Runner's Moon Trilogy Megabook Series (21 page)

At least the officer taking her into the Chambers Street Station was a bit more courteous than the Neanderthal who had tried to pat her down. They went in via the back door and down a narrow hallway bordered by holding cells. One guy was puking all over the floor inside one of them. Roni frowned in revulsion.

The main booking area was no different from any of the other police stations she had seen. In a way, she was disappointed. These places were dismal enough as it was.

Why do they have to be cookie-cutter identical, too?

She was led to a wooden chair, and a hand shoved down on her shoulder, mutely telling her to sit. The nylon cuffs remained on. Ginger was plopped down next to her, while Mr.

Nose Ring led Lolly over to a desk and helped her into the seat. Parking himself in front of her, he pulled out his keyboard to start taking down her information.

"Name?"

"Lollypop, shugah." To prove her point, she stuck out her ultra-large tongue and waggled the tip of it in the man's face.

Roni didn't try to hide her grin. They loved harassing the cops almost as much as the cops enjoyed busting them.

"Give me a break," Mr. Nose Ring snapped.

"Hey, Tayson! We got a two forty-five coming in! A whole van load! ETA twenty minutes!" A man emerged from one of the offices along the wall, shouting to the room at large. His 277

door was open in such a way she couldn't read the name on the glass panel. "Get your suspects booked and tagged before all hell breaks loose!"

"Shit! You know I can't do all three that fast! Somebody help me parcel 'em out! Yo! Fairbanks! Take the redhead!"

Roni saw a man in a suit, minus the jacket, give a nod and gesture toward Ginger. The officer standing watch over them grabbed her arm to help her over to Fairbanks' desk. The man who had yelled into the room scanned all available personnel.

"DeGrassi! You take Miss S and M!"

Her eyes followed where the man, obviously the captain or the one in charge, was directing his attention. She felt a small shock go through her to see the same man who had been at the bust—the unshaven one who had ordered Mr. Roaming Hands to Mirandize her. Mr. Ice Eyes. She saw him open his mouth as if he was going to object, then snap his jaw shut.

She guessed he had figured it was better to be done with it than to argue with the boss. He crooked a finger at her.

Roni was on her feet before the officer behind her could help her up. She made sure she stayed ahead of him and gave him no excuse to put his hands on her. At this moment, she wanted to remain away from any cop's roaming hands.

Unless...

She remained standing beside the wooden desk chair until Mr. Ice Eyes glanced up from his computer screen. She waited for him to do whatever was necessary, and it didn't take him long. His ice chip eyes slowly dragged their way from her head to her toes, leaving behind a trail of invisible, 278

icy fingers. When he finally got his fill, that cold gaze riveted to her face. Roni felt another shiver go through her, not because of the man's chilly glance ... but because the look he gave her was just the opposite. A blue-white heat of immense intensity lit a cord inside her and went straight to the center of her gut.

The revelation stunned her.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" he grumbled, punching at his keyboard. "Let's get this over with. I've got better things to do."

Roni dropped into the chair before her legs gave way.

"Name."

"Roni. R-o-n-i."

"Full name."

"Roni Tarakon. T-a-r-a-k-o-n."

She glanced over his desk, noting the neatness, the fact that the man liked everything to be in its place. It took her a second to grasp the fact that there was nothing personal to distinguish his desk from all the others. No photos. No cutesy little mementoes from past vacations.

No picture of a wife or girlfriend.

She looked back at him to see he had been studying her.

"Roni. Is that short for Veronica?"

"No. It's short for Tiron."

He gave a snort. "Explains the accent. How do you spell that?"

She gave it to him, or at least the closest equivalent she had been able to come to when she had been forced to convert her name into English. She watched as he typed. He 279

used both hands like a real typist, not the two or three-fingered punch method so many men utilized.

"Address."

He smelled like ... baby powder. Her eyes widened. The guy didn't use it, obviously, but his dark, masculine scent reminded her of baby powder, or talcum. Dusty. Heady. She took another, deeper breath just to make certain.

"Address," he repeated, this time a bit more gruffly.

"1604 Mare Marginis."

He started to type it when he froze and glared at her.

"That's over on the south side, isn't it?"

"So?"

"What are you doing in this neighborhood? Hell, you don't even live in our precinct."

"Mmm, slumming?"

"Apartment number?"

"No. Not an apartment."

The man gave her an incredulous look, then went back to entering data or double checking information they already had. Date of birth. Telephone number. Etcetera, etcetera. As the process continued, Roni scanned the desk for some kind of sign or label that would identify him.

There. Right next to the in and out baskets was a name plate. Roni craned her neck enough to be able to read the inscription. Lt. T. DeGrassi.

"Country of birth."

Her eyes snapped back to his. He looked pissed but he smelled ... like vanilla. Roni sat up straighter. And bananas.

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The import of what was washing over her nearly had her trembling.

"Miss Tarakon." Now he was even more pissed. Those ice-blue eyes grew colder, but the scent of bananas was growing stronger. She shook her head, unable to figure out the reason for the antithesis.

"It's a tiny country. You've probably never heard of it."

"Try me."

"Barandat."

"You're right. It doesn't ring a bell. But if I check the Internet, I betcha I'll find it."

She gave him a meaningless shrug, dropping her gaze.

"Go ahead. There's been so many uprisings and takeovers, it's probably changed names half a dozen times by now."

Lieutenant DeGrassi paused with his fingers on the keyboard. He kept staring at her, but now the fruity smell wrapped around her, feeding her a warmth she hadn't experienced in many long years.

"How long have you been in America, Miss Tarakon?"

"Five years, give or take a couple of months."

"And you have your papers?"

Her head jerked up and she stared at him. "Yeah, I have my papers. Why?"

"'Cause if you didn't, I would have to refer your case over to Immigration."

His computer bleeped, forcing his attention away from her.

A frown curved the edges of his mouth. "Have you been arrested before, Miss Tarakon?"

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"You mean here, or in general?" She tried to keep her voice from betraying her, making it come out sounding smart-alecky instead.

The lieutenant punched a few more buttons. Then some more. Screen after screen flashed before him, shading his face blue, then white, then back to blue.

Behind them, Mr. Nose Ring had finished with Lolly and was helping her to her feet. From the looks of things, it appeared Ginger was about wrapped up as well.

"Look, can you hurry it up? Just let me pay my bail so I can get home." Roni stopped long enough to get his attention. "I don't want to be caught out after dark. There's some crazy guy out there killing prostitutes, or haven't you heard?"

DeGrassi gave a humorless chuckle and went back to his computer screen. "Keep your shirt on. I don't wanna be here any longer than you do. I've got work to do, too. His gaze flicked back to her.

The plastic ties holding her wrists together were beginning to bind. Roni tried to adjust them so they wouldn't cut into the skin. Her stomach gave a little rumble, reminding her she hadn't had anything to eat since that morning. She'd been forced to skip lunch in order to serve her noontime clientele.

"I can't believe you guys would waste your time on us girls when there's a bigger fish out there to catch," Roni muttered loudly enough for him to hear.

"Did you ever think that maybe us guys saved your lives by pulling you in when we did?"

"Some favor. We would've been gone before dark."

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"Day hookers, eh?"

She gave another half-shrug. "It pays the bills."

The computer bleeped again. DeGrassi hit the print button and waited for a piece of paper to slide out of the printer behind him. "Awright. Time to go see the judge."

"Now?" Roni's eyes widened.

DeGrassi got to his feet. He was a good foot taller than she was, and she was no petite thing. His hand reached out to take her arm, and the effect was instantaneous. A wave of warm vanilla mixed with banana wrapped her in a cocoon of scent. Raining down on her were soft echoes of baby powder, landing like gentle drops to coat her skin.

Tears gathered in her eyes, forcing her to turn her face away from him so he couldn't see them. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice her sudden weakness.

It wasn't until they bypassed the holding cells that Roni realized something was different this time. "Wait, wait.

What's going on?"

His grip was firm but not hurting. Twice now she had caught him glancing down behind her back, at the nylon tie-backs that were putting angry red grooves in her wrists.

"Taking you to see Judge Braidon."

"Why can't I pay my bail and you let me go, huh?" She gave a quick glance behind them. "You haven't fingerprinted me yet."

"Don't need to yet. You're a possible illegal. That means a few nights accommodations in the luxurious Iron Bar Hotel, all expenses paid, until we can verify your paperwork. They'll print you up then."

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"No!" Roni dug in her heels and stopped dead. DeGrassi nearly went tumbling, but she was blind to the irritable expression coming over his face. However, there was no mistaking the smoky scent of wariness covering his previous smell.

She couldn't stay overnight in jail, or anywhere public. If she did, her fragile grip on her false identity would slip sooner or later. Sometime during the night, she would make a mistake and show her Ruinos self to them. And the resulting fear and loathing, not to mention pandemonium, would be nothing short of earth-shaking.

"No. Please, Lieutenant. Isn't there..." She tried to lick her lips, but her mouth had gone as dry as sand. Swallowing was painful. "Isn't there something we can do? I mean, isn't there an alternative?"

"Alternative what?" Those blue eyes dropped twenty degrees in temperature. "If you're thinking of trying to bribe me—"

"No!" she hastened to assure him. "No. What I mean is..."

She gave a nod at the paper he held in his other hand. "You said you needed to verify my paperwork? To prove that I'm here in this country legally? Well, I have the documents at my place. What if ... what if I had copies faxed over? Or-or, what if I brought them down to the courthouse and let them make a Xerox?"

"I take it you're not too keen about spending time in lockup."

Roni shook her head. The bars were too much like the cages she'd been forced to live in for sixteen years aboard 284

that Arran mother ship. She had sworn to herself on the day they landed on Earth that she would never see the inside of another cage for as long as she lived.

Cage. Cell. Same thing.

They remained standing there in the middle of the hallway while officers passed by them. Every now and then, a male eye would appraise her. She knew those drooling looks well enough.

"You're not yanking my chain? The documents are at your place? Because the database doesn't have a thing on you or your country."

"You have my address. Send a car over there. Tell the cops to look for a little cedar chest on top of my bureau.

They're in there."

"There aren't any available men I can send," the lieutenant told her. "At least not until morning. You'll have to spend the night."

The thought of even a few hours spent in confinement sent cold chills of dread sliding through her veins. "Please. I'm telling you the truth. I swear on the stars."

"Yeah. Like I'm supposed to take the word of a hooker."

He cocked his head at her, as if a thought had suddenly come to him. "If you've only been over here for five years, how long have you been hooking?"

Roni refused to back down or lie. "A little over four years.

Why?"

An emotion she couldn't read swept over his face and was gone before she could identify it. But the heavy, inky scent of sadness was left in its wake.

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She could take ridicule. She could stand pity. But the undeniable smell of this big man's sadness hit too close to home. Muttering "Forget it," she turned and continued in the direction they had been going. She got all of two feet before he dragged her to a stop.

"Come with me," he growled, and he began to pull her in the opposite direction.

"Where are we going?"

"To your place to get those documents. If Judge Braidon sees you're legit, he'll probably let you off with just a fine."

DeGrassi gave her a look that brooked no argument. "You better not be lying to me, woman."

"I'm not," she promised, breathing out a sigh of relief.

"Swear to you."

"We'll see," was all she got out of him until they were well on their way to her place.

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Fuckin' H! What the hell am I doing?

Lieutenant Thom DeGrassi chanced a sideways glance at the woman sitting passively in the seat next to him. She kept her face averted from him during the entire trip over to her place. If he didn't know any better, he would swear she was actually interested and intrigued by the passing scenery.

Well, so was he. But the scenery he couldn't keep his eyes off of was parked not two feet away from him.

What was it about this woman that bothered the hell out of him?

They passed a streetlight, which illuminated her cheek and jaw before sliding over her thick hair like glistening water.

With her porcelain skin, the jet-black hair, along with the black togs, was a devastating combination.

Whoa, boy. Don't go there. He tried to concentrate on where they were going. But—Damn it!—he couldn't stop looking at her.

For a whore she wasn't wasted, which meant she ate regularly and didn't get strung out on drugs or booze. That in itself was a miracle, especially since he now knew she'd been hooking for four years. It was rare for a hooker not to get caught up in drugs of one form or another.

She had high, firm boobs. Real ones. Ones that jiggled provocatively when she walked. And—man, oh man alive—

what a walk!

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His eyes slid down to her hips. If those pants were any tighter, they would cut off circulation. But as they were, they left nothing to his imagination. Not the enticing curve of her butt, nor the sweet hollow between her thighs when she moved.

Once they had gotten into the car, he had sliced the nylon band from her wrists. At the moment, she held her hands in her lap as if he and she were just another normal couple heading out for dinner. Or a date.

DeGrassi shook his head. This was crazy. Past experience in dealing with her type, coupled with his cop instincts, told him the woman was a Class B hooker. Not one of those expensive escort-service types, but neither was she a dreg willing to take on anything for spare change. Given time, though, he knew that she would end up on the slab at an early age from any number of diseases. Either that, or she'd become the victim of a random stabbing. Or shooting. Or God knew what. Unless she changed her path and chose another profession. And chose it soon.

The thought of viewing her cold body on one of the morgue's stainless-steel tables sent a sudden stab of fear knifing into his gut. DeGrassi clutched the steering wheel with numb fingers as he tried to cope with the feelings coming over him.

Just what in the hell are these feelings, anyway? Why the hell should I care?

Her home was in the southeastern part of the city. It was in the older part of town, but many of the homes that had been built here in the late eighteen-hundreds still stood—

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refinished, rebuilt, and refurbished until they appeared almost the same as they had when they had originally been built. Old money lived here.

Mare Marginis was a street in the Crescent Moon subdivision—actually, a subdivision carved out of that particular old-money area of town. Back when these big, sixteen-room mansions first existed, they also boasted extra quarters in the back for the hired help: the maid and the gardener, the butler, and sometimes a stable hand. Over the years, many of the original owners had divvied up their property and sold off bits and pieces of the lots where their original houses sat. 1604 used to be one of those extra cottages attached to the main residence.

DeGrassi stared at the small, wood frame residence as he pulled up into the barely-existent driveway. "Where's your car?" he asked. They were the first words out of his mouth since they'd left the station.

"Don't own one," she replied in that low voice of hers that was as natural as sin.

He glared at her. "You rent a place like this, this far from where you were hooking, and you don't own a car?"

Roni gave him a look he was well acquainted with. It screamed, What do you care? as loudly as if she had spoken it.

"For your information, Lieutenant, there's not much money to be made on this side of town. In addition, the metro express has a stop just a block over in that direction." She gestured with a nod of her head. "And finally, this is one of the nicer and safer parts of town, where a girl like me doesn't 289

have to worry about big bad boogiemen breaking into her home and taking advantage of her."

She threw open the car door and slid out without checking to see if he was following her. She knew he would be.

The grounds were immaculate, he noticed. The flowerbeds were well tended and filled with a riot of color, noticeable even in the muting darkness. DeGrassi recognized some perennials and several wildflower varieties that shouldn't exist side by side, but did.

The front door of the cottage was around the back, bordered by a narrow, white-washed porch that wrapped itself around three-quarters of the building. In the pale moonlight, the house looked to be painted a dark brown or red. A huge towering oak tree braced one side of the building, apparently planted there after the place had been built.

He followed her around to the front door to see a wooden swing suspended at the far right side of the porch. A small pillow nestled in the corner of the swing. Pausing, he took a second to stare at the swing, then at the woman climbing up the short steps to the front door. A door with a screen. A porch. A swing.

It didn't make sense.

"Are you coming in? Or are you going to wait for me outside?"

That dark, sultry voice broke him away from his daydreaming. Scowling at himself, DeGrassi followed her inside. No way was he staying outside when his curiosity was running wild about what he would find within the wine-colored cottage.

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Roni flipped on the lamps as she opened the door. The living room was immediately filled with a soft, amber glow from the two table lamps on opposite sides of the room.

Standing in the doorway, DeGrassi stared with fascination at the profusion of greenery. Potted plants and miniature trees practically filled the room. Amid the abundance, he noticed an overstuffed couch with a crocheted throw and a matching overstuffed chair facing an empty fireplace. The one picture he could see on the wall was a forest scene, complete with towering redwoods.

He heard Roni go into the next room and turn on the light.

He followed her to stand in that doorway, too. "Tell me this is a joke," he managed to say, once he gathered his wits about him again. This place could almost be mistaken for an arboretum.

She looked up from the little cedar chest sitting on top of her bureau, just like she had described it to him. "What are you talking about?"

Waving a hand toward the small bed with its quilt of flowers, and the little area rugs dotting the wooden floors, he repeated, "Tell me this is a joke. You don't really live here.

This is your sister's place, or your old maiden aunt's, and you're just staying with her for a while ... right?"

A hard look came over her face. He caught sight of her nostrils flaring, as if she were sniffing the air, and she lifted her chin in defiance. "This is my home, Lieutenant," she practically hissed at him. "This is my sanctuary. My place where I can escape the crap I have to put myself through day 291

after day. As you are a guest, I would expect a little more respect from you."

It stung. No, he quickly corrected himself. It burned.

Because she was right. For all he knew, this place was like this because it reminded her of her home country. Or where she grew up. Fuck, if he was forced to prostitute himself to make the rent, wouldn't he like a place like this to escape to so he could forget what he did for a living?

With a jerk, DeGrassi thought of the apartment complex he called home. It was a cold and ultra-modern two/one that felt as impersonal as it looked. Suddenly, this place seemed all the more desirable.

Like Roni.

DeGrassi mentally slammed his back to the wall. Best get done what he needed to do, and get it done quickly. This woman who was staring at him with those luminous gray eyes...

...gray eyes with little silver flecks trembling in them...

...and holding an envelope was starting to get to him. And he didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Because, on the one hand, he was about two shakes away from walking over to her and seeing if those lush pink lips were as delicious as they appeared to be.

Yet, on the other hand, he wanted to put a permanent tail on her, so that every time she took her perfect little ass out on the street, he would have her picked up and hauled back to the station.

He curled his hands into fists as he watched her flare those nostrils again at him. Jesus, that was sexy! Why hadn't he 292

ever noticed before how sexy a woman looked when she sniffed in his direction?

"I-I'm sorry," he finally managed to stutter. "It's just that I don't usually deal with hookers."

Her fine eyebrows dropped. "I thought you worked vice."

"I do, but I tend to stick with the ATF. I only help out the other departments when we're short-handed."

She gave a little snort. "My luck," she commented. For some reason, DeGrassi didn't take it as a slam.

Walking over to where he remained in the doorway, she handed him the envelope. Taking it from her, he noticed the official seal on the return address. "Here are my papers, Lieutenant. Now what?"

Now what?

Now that she was this close to him, he could take his own deep sniff of her. He barely managed to stifle the low, throaty groan that almost dragged itself out of him. She smelled like maple syrup. Thick, rich, sweet syrup. Intoxicating. Is it her perfume? Or her soap? Would she taste like syrup if he ran his tongue down over her skin? Between those perky breasts or in that moist cleft between her legs, where he knew her skin had to be sweaty because of those nonbreathing pants?

His hands clenched again involuntarily. There was no way he could stop his body from reacting to her scent. Nor could he hide the growing evidence. He could only pray she didn't notice. Or if she did, that she didn't care.

But if she didn't care, he knew it would kill him.

Fuck!

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"Now we take these back downtown and hope the night judge is lenient."

Something flashed through those misty gray eyes. It looked like fear, stark fear, but it was gone too quickly for him to be certain. "What do you think the chances are I won't have to spend the night in jail?" she asked.

And then he knew.

She was terrified of being locked up.

Miss Roni Tarakon was afraid of spending the night in the pokey.

Before he could think twice about his reaction, DeGrassi gave her a calculating look. "What's the matter, Miss Tarakon? Afraid your pimp won't be able to get you out before dawn?"

Fearful, flower-quilt Roni disappeared. In that instant, black rage filled her face with disdain so violent he could swear he could taste its acidity, like heavy poison on his tongue. It coated the inside of his mouth.

"I don't have a pimp, Lieutenant. I work alone. Got that?

Alone."

She had moved closer to him, so close he could see the flecks of silver in her eyes shining like tiny diamonds. She was breathing heavily, smelling, sniffing. Sniffing.

"If you're working alone, then you're dumber than I thought," he growled "Dumb, or absolutely the luckiest person I've ever met."

She was too close. Christ. Another step toward him, and he would have no choice but to reach out and grab her by the arms. And if he grabbed her, he would not be able to stop 294

himself from bending her over and tasting that incredible mouth.

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not dumb. And I'm not lucky." If it were possible, her voice had dropped even lower, until it seemed to be emanating from somewhere between her lungs and her ribcage. "If I were lucky, do you think I would be hooking?"

There couldn't have been six inches of air space between their noses. DeGrassi remained riveted to those smoky eyes with their silver shards, and his body remained aware of her sweet syrupy smell that continued to drift up to him like ribbon candy. The top of her head barely reached his sternum.

He felt his fingers flex, ready to touch that creamy, silken cheek. Ready to pull her warmth and that intoxicating scent against him, and suckle on her like she was a dime store lollipop. Tongue her all over until she was writhing, all soft and pliable, and dripping her sweetness onto those snow-white sheets. On that bed with the quilt that resembled a flowerbed gone berserk.

A flowerbed. That's what it was. It probably even smells like flowers, something whispered in the back of his mind.

A sudden screech jarred him from his thoughts. The sound came from outside, spiking over his nerves like nails on concrete. He took a step backward as he jerked around in surprise. When he glanced back over at the woman, she was trying to mask her smile.

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Oh, fuck. Now he was definitely a goner. The woman's smile was even more potent than her smell. "What was that?"

he asked, hoping to sound more gruff than he felt.

"A screech owl. This property abuts Galileo Woods." She giggled.

Galileo Woods was the outermost southeastern border of the city. DeGrassi knew the subdivision was seated on the fringes, but he hadn't realized how close they were when he had turned onto the street.

His eyes darted back to her. She was still wearing that Mona Lisa smile, and every last ounce of willpower in him melted. At the last second, she seemed to recognize the look in his eyes before he walked over to cradle her cheek in his hand.

His lips skimmed hers. Touched, slightly pressed, then sipped. He moved lightly, caressingly. Tasting their ripeness and the color he now knew was natural. There wasn't a trace of makeup on her face. And now that he was this close to her, he could practically absorb her rich, sweet smell through his skin.

He used his mouth like his fingers, barely skimming over her soft surfaces, trying to coax her into a response. She allowed him to tease her, but she didn't respond. She didn't kiss him back.