Tempted by Fate (18 page)

Her right leg lifted to hook on his hip, and she rubbed herself against him. Groaning, he lowered his hand to her ass and hitched her closer. Her skirt had ridden up, and
his fingers brushed the smoothness of her bottom. She moaned as he slipped his hand under the leather skirt and gripped her firm, bare skin.

He shifted his hand and groaned when he felt her soft, hardly-there thong. He touched the moist fabric. It wouldn’t take much to slide a finger under it. She’d be slick and hot. He could feel her heat already. He’d touch her, inside and out. He was dying to touch her.

He edged a finger just under the elastic. Just as he’d thought, she was hot. Damp. Silky smooth. He groaned. Years ago, he’d dated a woman who’d gotten rid of the hair down there, and he’d liked it a lot.

He ran a finger along the puffy outer lip of her sex and felt her leg clench him tighter. His cock surged. It was right against the front of her panties, with only his pants and underwear as barriers. One zip and they’d be skin to skin. God, he wanted that.

She squirmed against him, trying to get closer. Her leg lowered, anchoring around his knee. And then, once again, he was on his ass. Stunned and wincing at the pain radiating from his tailbone, he looked up to find Willow sprinting away from him, awkwardly swaying, side to side, to compensate for her cuffed hands.

Pain shot up and down his backside as he got to his feet, and he growled. He was going to strangle her when he caught up to her.

That wasn’t a thought a Homicide inspector had lightly.

She headed back toward the club. He considered taking a shortcut and heading her off, but he didn’t trust her not to trick him again, so he kept after her. It didn’t escape his notice that he was always chasing her, and that
made him even angrier. He sped up when he saw her turn a corner. How the hell did she run in those shoes?

He turned right, and stopped abruptly when he saw her standing still, huffing to catch her breath. He looked past her and saw three large men dressed all in black. They had earpieces that he associated with Secret Service men. He didn’t recognize any of them—they looked to be a higher caliber of guard than those at Bohemia. As he reached into his pocket to pull out his badge, the first man attacked Willow with a club.

“
Hey,
” Ramirez yelled, running toward them. His blood pounded, and he realized it was with fear for her life. He should have uncuffed her. He wasn’t going to get to her in time, and it was his fault that she was going to be hurt.

To his surprise, Willow sprang forward before he could de-escalate the situation. His heart stopped, and he shouted out again.

She blocked the club with a kick to his wrist, followed by two lightning-fast front kicks, low to the man’s chest and then high to his face.

Ramirez stopped to admire her form, and then he shook his head. There had to be something wrong with him that he was getting turned on by a woman whipping another man’s ass.

The man’s head snapped backward as he teetered on his heels, off balance, and then toppled to the ground.

The second man reached into his suit coat.

Shit.
Ramirez went for his gun, thinking the worse, only vaguely relieved when he saw the man withdrew a Taser. Still, a Taser could be lethal, and the thought of Willow being hurt in any way infuriated him.

Willow looked at the attacker and laughed mockingly. “Is that all you’ve got?”

The guy’s expression became determined as he aimed at her.

Ramirez ran straight for him and tackled him at the waist. As the guy staggered, Ramirez let loose a left hook, catching the perp behind the jaw. The man rocked backward, his eyes rolling to the back of his head before he fell over.

Ramirez turned around, looking for Willow. She was busy with the last one, who looked determined to run away. Smart man. Even with her arms tied behind her back, she was a force to be reckoned with, which is what the guy must have decided, because as she let loose another kick to his head, he just turned and ran.

“Coward,” she yelled after him, staring at his retreating form.

Jesus. And he’d thought leaving her cuffed was going to impede her ability to protect herself.

As if she’d heard his thought, she turned her sights on him. “I was perfectly capable of handling them on my own.”

He tugged his coat down and straightened his tie. “I was more concerned about the men.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she took a step toward him. His heart kicked up a beat, not out of fear but anticipation. He couldn’t deny his disappointment when she casually turned and walked away.

He glanced at the men strewn on the ground. He should have called to have them picked up, but what was he going to say? That he’d taken one out protecting a murder suspect?

Willow was complicating his life. He glanced at the
men one last time, decided they’d be fine, and took off after her. He saw her duck into a small side street, but by the time he got there, she was gone.

“Impossible, stubborn…” He raked his hair back, resisting the urge to punch the concrete building. He paced until he realized it wasn’t going to help get his temper under control. The only thing he could think of that might help was paddling her sweet ass.

He knew she’d head back to her motel room, so he’d pick her up there. On the way back to his car, his cell rang. He glanced at the caller ID before picking it up. “Taylor, I’m—”

“Ricky, we’ve got a call on another body, and guess what?”

A bad feeling clawed his belly. “What?”

“It’s at the bar where the other vic worked, that you checked out the other day. Bohemia.”

“The caller didn’t say who he or she was?” he asked, wondering how likely it’d been that anyone noticed him there. Not having called in the crime put him in a precarious situation.

“No, but get this. He gave us a tip on the perp. You were right. He’s a she, and our mystery caller gave us the address to the motel where she’s staying. The team and I just arrived at the motel. I’ll get things going here and then meet you at Bohemia.”

Willow.
He started to jog toward his car. “Can you handle it on your own?”

Silence stretched over the line before Taylor finally said, “You okay, Ricky?”

“Fine.” He jammed his key into the lock, hopped in, and started the car.

“Because you’ve never not checked out a crime scene. You say you like to form your own impressions. What’s going on?”

“I’m in the middle of something.”

“A woman?”

Not in the way his partner meant, but he wasn’t going to elaborate. He had to cut off Willow before she stumbled on his team raiding her motel room. “I’ll call you later.”

Before Taylor could ask anything more, Ramirez hung up.

Gunning it, he raced to the motel, where his team was currently located, and exactly where Willow was headed.

The idea of his men putting their hands on her, even to arrest her, drove him insane. She was his, and he’d be the one to bring her in.

He broke every law on his way there. He parked on a narrow, one-way street a couple blocks away and jogged to the motel. The Crime Scene Unit was there in full force. They’d be inside, going through her things, gathering evidence. He was torn between wanting them to find something incriminating and not finding anything at all. If she really was innocent…

How could she be? He frowned. He’d seen her searching the desk of a man who’d obviously just been killed. Not to mention that he’d placed her at another crime scene.

Careful to steer clear of anyone on his team, he hid behind a Dumpster by a restaurant across the street. Willow pulled up in a taxi ten minutes later. He watched her, still inside the cab, awkwardly paying the driver with her hands behind her back. Trying not to imagine where
she’d hidden money in that skimpy outfit, Ramirez hurried to her.

He opened the car door for her, oddly satisfied at the startled look she gave him. Without a word, he took her arm and pulled her out of the cab. He registered the taxi tearing off into the night, but really his entire focus centered on her.

She watched him with grave caution, as if
he
were the one who was wildly unpredictable. Careful to keep her hidden from his team, he hustled her away from the motel to where his car was parked.

She let him drag her for several feet before she said, “I guess your grandmother didn’t teach you that it’s polite to call before dropping by to visit.”

“I’m surprised that wasn’t something you two discussed.”

“I guess we were too busy talking about your favorite foods. Although I’m not sure Cap’n Crunch counts as food, but whatever.”

He glanced at her as he opened the car door. She avoided his gaze, so he couldn’t tell what she was really thinking. She started to get in, but he stopped her. She threw a questioning look at him.

“First.” He pressed her against the car and ran his hands down the sides of her torso. He tried not to notice the slight arching of her back as his hands brushed her breasts, or the way her breath quickened. He chose not to look down because he didn’t trust himself. He knew without a doubt that he would see her nipples hard under that poor excuse for a shirt, their rosiness visible through the lace.

“Searching for hidden goods, Starsky?” she asked, her voice husky. “You should look lower.”

He ignored the innuendo, but his cock didn’t. “That’s where I’m headed.” He got to his knees in front of her. “Spread your feet.”

“Isn’t there a law against doing this in public?”

He ran his hands up her legs, lifting her skirt. Along the inside of one thigh, he found two thin stilettos attached with a garter-type thing. On the other, she had a small cell phone strapped.

“It’s set to vibrate, of course,” she said.

He unhooked the weapons. Made of hand-carved wood, he realized they were what she’d been working on that night he’d surprised her at the motel. He slipped them into his inside pocket, rose to his feet, and opened the car door. “Get in.”

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say to you?” she said, but she got in without resistance. Then he saw the goose bumps raised on her arms. Of course she was chilled—she was barely wearing anything.

Rounding the car, he got in, turned it on, and cranked up the heater. “You could have told me you were cold.”

She shrugged.

Stubborn woman. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her. It only hit her midthigh, but it was better than nothing. Truthfully, part of him didn’t mind that her legs were still bare. They were magnificent, long and lean and lightly tanned.

“Careful. You’re drooling,” she said, her gaze on flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the building wall next to them.

“Are you always this difficult?” he asked as he resettled in the driver’s seat.

“You’ve caught me at my best.”

“If this is your best, I’d hate to see your worst.”

She nodded. “Me too.”

Watching for her reaction, he asked, “Did you kill the men?”

Her lips thinned, her nostrils flaring delicately. He couldn’t tell if she was angry that he accused her, or that she’d been caught. But then her expression relaxed into blankness. “You already think you know what happened, and you’ve got the men in there going through my stuff to prove it. Why bother asking?”

“Willow,” he said, holding her face so she had to look at him. “I’m asking because I want to know the truth.”

“Why did you help me back there?” she asked, her gaze direct and unflinching.

Because he couldn’t bear the thought of those thugs hurting her. Just like the thought of his team rifling through her intimate things bothered the hell out of him. “I asked you first.”

She rolled her eyes. “Real mature there, Starsky.”

“Is it so hard to trust me?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

He felt a pang of sympathy despite himself. He wanted to force her to tell him what happened to her. He wanted to make it right, and he didn’t like that at all. He shouldn’t have felt any kind of sympathy for a murder suspect. He should have taken her straight to the station and booked her. But he couldn’t.

She jerked her chin out of his grip. Then she spoke, so softly he almost didn’t hear. “The man who killed Quentin also killed my mother.”

“What?” He scowled at her. “How do you know?”

“He’s setting me up. I don’t have proof of that, so don’t
bother to ask. It’s just a feeling.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “You wouldn’t believe in something as esoteric as that.”

“I was raised by a medicine woman.”

“Yes, but you’re pragmatic and logical. You wouldn’t believe anything supernatural even if it bit you on the ass.”

“You know me that well?”

“Your grandmother was very forthcoming. I had to stop her from showing me pictures of you in your Underoos.”

He considered telling her he refused to wear underwear as a child because he hated the elastic, but he thought better of it. “I guess you’re right. I’m trying to tell myself it was just good timing that the tree helped you take out that man the other night. Am I wrong?”

She stilled, so motionless that he didn’t think she even breathed in that moment. Then she turned to face him, shifting to accommodate her bound hands. “It was dumb luck that the wind kicked up when it did.”