07 Uncorked - Chrissy McMullen Mystery (24 page)

Officer Albertson took a step back and stared at me, brows raised.

“I was just curious,” he said.

I let my air out in an explosive rush. “What are you doing here?” He shrugged. “You didn’t pick up your cell.”

“I was…” I was trying to breathe properly. It wasn’t as easy as it usually was. “I was out of range or something.”

He nodded and shifted his eyes to Lavonn. They were unusually somber. Their gazes locked. She said nothing, just examined him.

I vaguely considered introductions, but explanations seemed ungainly.

“You a movie star?” she asked finally.

He smiled his Hollywood smile. There was more than a little relief in it. I was happy to see that I wasn’t the only one intimidated by Lavonn. “I’m Officer Eric Albertson,” he said, then turned back toward me. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. The effort was strangely taxing. “Sure.”

“You can probably put your lethal weapons away, then.” I blinked.

He nodded toward me. It wasn’t until then that I realized I was still in kung fu position. I cleared my throat, feeling like an idiot. The only thing I knew about martial arts was Chuck Norris jokes. I lowered my hands. “Where can I sack out?” Lavonn asked.

“Upstairs,” I said, refusing to be embarrassed by the mess she would find up there.

“Second door on the right.”

She trudged up the steps without another word. The word I was thinking of being thanks.

I turned back toward Albertson. Exhaustion hit me like a wave, but I tried to be social. “So what are you doing here?” I asked. Harley was sniffing my leg and giving me the stink eye as if I had been cheating on him with a Maltese. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized there was blood smeared across my bare thigh.

My eyes met Eric’s. He raised his brows.

“It’s not what you think,” I said.

“Really?” he asked. “Because I think I let you down.” I exhaled carefully, trying to keep up. “What are you talking about?” He shrugged. “I’m a police officer, Christina. It’s my job to serve and protect.” And suddenly, though I don’t know why, I was crying.

Eric folded me into his arms like well-beaten egg yolks, and I went blubbering and sobbing.

“It’s all right. Shhh. You’re safe now,” he said, and when I was sane enough to walk, he eased me over to the couch and sat me down. His body felt warm beside mine. “Shh, honey, shh,” he said. “Tell me what happened.”

I was getting his shirt wet. I eased back a little and wiped my nose. “I was so scared.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and stroked my hair. “I should have known you were in trouble when I saw you weren’t home.” He pushed a few tear-stained strands from my face.

I tried to follow the mood, but generally when people try to kill me Rivera has been there accusing me of some heinous crime. It was hard to adjust.

“What happened?”

I hiccupped once, then shuddered and told him the story.

He shook his head when I was finished.

“Really,” I said. “It wasn’t my fault. He had a gun. I just didn’t know what else—”

“Christ, Christina.” He scowled, brows beetling over beautiful sea-foam eyes. “Of course it wasn’t your fault. Drag’s a certified nut job.”

“You know him?”

“I know of him. Everyone on the force knows of him.” I nodded. “Lavonn’s his…” I searched for the proper word. “Girlfriend.” It didn’t seem quite right. The term made it sound as if they would be attending the sock hop together.

“Seriously?”

“She used to be with Jackson Andrews.”

“No fuck?”

“None,” I said, and wondered if that would change any time soon.

“Are all your friends this interesting?”

I sighed, kicked off my sandals and tucked my feet under my butt. “I don’t think she’s my friend.”

“You kidding? If half of what I’ve heard about Drag is true, you just saved her life.” Yeah, so shouldn’t she have been nicer to me? I gave a mental sigh and a physical shrug. “Sometimes individuals feel guilty for being with partners who abuse them. Often they then blame others in an attempt to alleviate that guilt.” He stared at me. “You may be the nicest person I’ve ever met.” I stared back, thinking of how I’d just wanted to slap an abused mother across the back of her head. “I hope not,” I said.

He laughed a little as he smoothed a few hairs behind my left ear. “And the most modest.”

Wow, I thought, and cleared my throat. “What are you doing here? Really.”

“I was driving by your house, saw the lights on.”

“You were driving through Sunland at three o’clock in the morning?” He stared into my eyes, expression sober again. “I know you’re still hung up on Rivera.”

Why did people keep saying that? “We broke up,” I said.

He smiled. “Oh, that’s right. You’re with someone else now.”

“Marcus,” I said, and found I was inordinately proud of the fact that I’d remembered his name.

“He’s a lucky man.”

“He’s in Pinsk.”

“Do you mean Minsk?”

I shrugged. “He’s a very important psychiatrist.”

“Did they have a mental health emergency in…wherever the hell it is?”

“He’s signing his book.”

“Ahhh,” he said, and stroked my cheek with his knuckles.

“It might be a best-seller.”

“Meanwhile, you’re here all alone?”

“I have Harley,” I said, and stroked his ear. He’d placed his head on my knee, apparently forgiving me for my suspected liaison with the Maltese.

“Nice dog,” he said, leaning in. “But don’t you get lonely?” I swallowed. “I have Francois.”

“Francois?”

My eyes locked on his. Turns out I would rather be accused of any number of heinous crimes than have to explain why I had given my vibrator a French name.

I cleared my throat again, ready to make up some outrageous lie, but just then he kissed me.

Chapter 24

Thinking; it’s not for everyone.

—Chrissy McMullen, age seven, cognizant of such things at an early age
Heat steamed through my body. I once heard that near-death experiences make people want to copulate, that awareness of their mortality makes them need to feel alive.

Personally, I always thought that orgasms alone would be a big enough motivator. But right then I really did need to feel alive.

At least that’s what I told myself as I kissed him back.

His hand scooped around my neck, drawing me closer. I was breathing hard by the time he lifted me into his arms. I didn’t resist.

“My God, you’re beautiful,” he said, and kissed me again. It was a good thing he was carrying me, because I was too weak-kneed to speak. Not only was he not accusing me of murder, he was alleviating the necessity of walking and telling me I was pretty. The three steps to guaranteed sex.

He carried me to the bedroom and kicked the door shut with his foot. I sighed as he laid me down, moaned as he cupped my breast.

“Christina,” he whispered, and kissed my neck. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

I closed my eyes as he opened my blouse. His hands felt warm against my skin, and then he lay down beside me, long and firm. I arched against him.

“Jack,” I whispered, and suddenly the world stopped.

I snapped my eyes open.

He stared at me. I stared at him. He blinked.

“Eric,” I said. “I meant Eric.”

Something sparked in his eyes, but after a moment he shook his head. “It’s all right.” His voice was nothing more than a murmur.

“No. It’s not. I’m—”

He put his fingers on my lips. “You’ve been through a hell of a lot in the last couple weeks.”

“That doesn’t mean—” I began, but he kissed me again. His body felt hard against mine. My own revved up. A man. A living breathing man who was neither in jail nor in some country I couldn’t locate without a magnifying glass. I had hit the mother lode. But guilt and shame were alive and well even at the mother lode. I put a hand on his chest, but my ovaries, suspecting treason, began sending dire warning to my fingers.

Don’t do it, they said. Don’t you dare do it.

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” I whispered the words, but my female parts heard me and immediately began screaming obscenities.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and gave me that smile that had certainly made stronger women offer to bear his babies.

“No, she’s not fucking sure. The bitch is nuts!” Turns out my female parts can be pretty rude.

“I’m sure,” I whispered.

“I’m not trying to take Rivera’s place, you know.”

“Marcus. I’m dating Marcus.”

“That’s right,” he said, and smiled.

I winced. “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“Would you think less of me if I said I didn’t give a flying fuck about fair when you look at me like that?” He stroked my cheek. I managed not to erupt into multiple orgasms and wriggled. He raised his brows, but I was just trying to wiggle out from under him. I swear I was.

Eventually, he slid off me. I sat up and put my feet on the bed. He swung his over the side and stared at me. There was no anger in his eyes. Only disappointment.

“So how did you get mixed up with a bottom feeder like Drag?” he asked.

I exhaled carefully. “I went to see Lavonn. We met a while back when…” I began, but I wasn’t ready to relive those memories. “She used to live with Jackson Andrews. I thought maybe she could help me figure things out so I went to see her.”

“At two o’clock in the morning?”

I shook my head. “No. A few days ago. Turns out she’s living with Drag now. When she called me, she was pretty…” I steadied my hands on the mattress. “Distressed.”

“Distressed. No shit. She’s living with a fucking lunatic.”

“Not anymore.”

He snorted.

I raised my eyes to his. “She left him,” I said.

“Oh, come on. You know as well as I do that she’ll be back with him before breakfast.”

“That’s not necessarily true.”

“You’re right. She might find someone even worse.”

“He shot her dog,” I said. Harley whined at the door. “I’m not sure there is anyone worse.”

His shrug suggested he was less than convinced. “It’s nice of you to try to save her but…” He shook his head.

“You don’t think people can change?”

“I do if you do.”

I thought about my own high school years, during which I had participated in belching contests on more than one occasion. “I hope they can.”

“Tell me the truth, Christina,” he said. “Is it that same kindness of yours that makes you try to exonerate Rivera, or is it something else?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, look at yourself, honey. You’re…” He skimmed his gaze down my body.

“Well, Lavonn doesn’t exactly look like she’d be your sorority sister.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the only reason you were in that neighborhood is because you’re trying to get Rivera off the hook.”

I considered denying it, but I was too exhausted. “He’s innocent.” No one spoke for a moment. His eyes were very steady on mine. “A man will do a lot when he’s in love.”

I stared back, but I wasn’t ready to explore that option or debate the possibilities.

I shook my head. “He didn’t do it.”

“Tell me the truth. What has he done to earn such loyalty?”

“It’s not loyalty. It’s realism. Emotions have no part in this. I’m with…” Aw, fuck.

Not again.“…Marcus! I just know Rivera didn’t shoot anybody.” He laughed a little. “Well,” he said, and sighed as he rose to his feet. “Maybe you’re right. Imp seemed to think the same thing.”

“What?”

He looked momentarily chagrined, then shook his head, seemingly at his own absentmindedness. “Never mind. I’m sorry I got overly”—he nodded toward the bed, looking sheepish—“enthusiastic. I hope this won’t stand in the way of our friendship.”

“What’s an Imp?” I asked.

He laughed and turned toward the door. “Next time you have a friend in trouble, call me instead of charging into the fire, will you?”

I stood up. “What did Imp say?”

His shoulders slumped a little, and for a moment he looked infinitely sad. “I’d give my right arm to have that kind of loyalty.”

“It’s not loyalty!” I repeated. “I’m with…” I really think it was just fatigue that made me forget that time.

“Marcus?” he suggested.

I shook off the pesky forgetfulness and forged on. “Who’s Imp?” He stared at me for a few long seconds, scowled and stepped back toward me.

“Forget I said anything, Christina. Please.”

“He knows something about Rivera, doesn’t he?”

He shook his head slowly, ignoring my question. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“What does Imp know?’

He exhaled heavily, then glanced toward the door as if expecting to see Drag come barging through with a battering ram. There was another prolonged silence then, “There’s talk that she has information.”

“Imp’s a she?”

“Forget it. Please. You don’t have to worry about Rivera. He’s a big boy.” Did all these cops shower together or what?

“I know he is,” I said.

“But you’ll worry anyway.”

“No. I mean…where would I find this Imp?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Where—”

“Christina…” He took my left hand in both of his. “You can’t. Drop it. Please. I don’t even know where to find her myself since she quit per—”

“Quit what?”

“Leave it alone.”

My mind was spinning wildly, trying to patch the clues together in an attempt to form the next question. “Is Imp her first name or—” He laughed out loud. “Jesus, woman, word around the station was that you were a tiger. I was kind of thinking they meant it in a different way.” I was too revved up to be embarrassed.

“Help me learn the truth, Eric,” I said. “For Rivera’s sake.” He shook his head.

“He’s a fallen officer. A brother. A—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Then do it for me,” I said, and stepped toward him, looking up through my lashes as I slipped my hands around his biceps. They were pretty good biceps. “Please.” Our lips were inches apart.

He kissed me, then he stepped back and shook his head as if awakening from a dream.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” he said, and whipping the door open, left me alone with my frustrations.