Body Of Truth (17 page)

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Authors: Deirdre Savoy

BOOK: Body Of Truth
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“We don't know that for sure. Whoever was after Wesley might have thought you saw something that you might report to the police.”
“Right, that's why they followed me up here to Mount Vernon. Sure, over on Third Avenue there are places that rival any neighborhood in the South Bronx, but not here. Around here a bunch of gang bangers in a tricked out car would have been stopped by the police before they had time to breathe.”
Exactly what he'd thought of the situation. “Dana,” he said, trying to forestall any more speculation down that path, but she wasn't listening to him.
“If they were so worried about what I might know, why didn't they go after Old Specs, the guy who watches everything from his window?”
“I don't know. I have no idea if they did or didn't do anything to the man.”
“Believe me, if they'd really wanted me, I wouldn't have made it out of the neighborhood.” Tears, unshed, glistened in her eyes. “And you want to know the worst part? I didn't see anything. I've trained myself not to notice anything. If I walk into some apartment and folks are cutting drugs on the dining room table, or some hooker is doing a guy in an alley or some cop is beating the shit out of some kid in a corner, I just walk by. I keep moving. I don't see a thing.”
She gazed up at him, shaking her head. “I was so busy being sanctimonious about how Wesley nearly got me killed. It never occurred to me that it could be the other way around.” She lowered her head, but not before he saw the tears spilling silently down her cheeks.
He didn't know what to say to that. Intellectually, she must know that none of this was her fault, not Amanda Pierce's death or Wesley's murder. She was beyond logic, in a place where only pain mattered and the accumulated grief, sorrow and unearned guilt could eat a person whole. He knew; he'd been there.
He closed the gap between them and pulled her to him. She laid her cheek against his chest. One of his hands rose to stroke her nape while the other banded around her waist, holding her closer. “Don't cry, sweetheart,” he whispered against her ear. “Not one person caught up in this is worth any of your tears.”
Cradling her face in his palms, he tilted her face up to him. He brushed away her tears with his thumbs. “Don't cry.” Without thinking, he brought his mouth down to hers.
Immediately her arms closed around him and she kissed him back with a fierceness he had yet to see in her. It was as if she channeled all her emotions into that one kiss. He understood that, too—the need to sublimate that which you couldn't change.
Her fingers went to his shirt, pulling it from his waistband and over his head before he had the time or the will to stop her. He couldn't help the groan that rumbled up from somewhere deep as her lips touched down on the center of his chest. Damn, he wanted her, but he didn't want any replays of the previous night. He didn't want her to come to her senses sometime later and regret whatever happened between them.
He tilted her chin up to see her face. “Seems we've hit this spot in the road before.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What's your point?”
“There might not be any backfires to raise an alert. No last minute saves.” She looked at him more confused than before. He may as well ask her straight out. “Do you want to be with me, Dana?”
She averted her gaze to his chest, where her fingers made a lazy exploration of his bare flesh. He held his breath waiting for her answer.
When she looked at him again, it was with a sideways glance and a smile he didn't at first comprehend. “Only if you do me a favor.”
“What's that?”
“Take me upstairs.”
Thirteen
If he'd had time to think about it, he might have questioned the change in her from the previous night. More than likely her experience tonight fueled her desire more than a little bit. But she took a step toward, slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. That killed all the rational thought he was capable of at that moment. His arms closed around her, bringing her body flush with his. Her hands, nurse's hands—strong, firm and at the same time gentle—roved over his back, making him groan into her mouth.
When he finally pulled away, it was to lift her off her feet with his arms around her hips. She shrieked and hit him on the shoulder, surprised, he guessed, by his sudden move.
“I didn't mean that literally,” she said.
“You know how us dumb cops are. All we know is how to follow orders.”
She hit him again as he carried her from the kitchen to the hall. “Put me down. You'll give yourself a hernia.”
He did as she asked, but not until they reached the stairs where the overhang from above made it impossible to continue. He released her slowly, letting her slide down his body, exciting them both. She ended up standing on the step above him, her breasts at his eye level. His hand delved under her shirt to cradle one of her breasts in his palm. When she pulled the shirt over her head, he took her nipple into his mouth to flick his tongue against its peak.
She gasped and jerked against him, her fingers digging into the flesh at his shoulders. But both excitement and anticipation thrummed in him, making him impatient. His fingers found the snap of her jeans, quickly releasing it. He rasped the zipper down, then pushed the heavy material from her hips. She backed up a step, bracing one hand on the wall and the other on the banister, as he freed one leg and then the other. For a moment, all he could do was stare at her, his eyes drinking in the sight of her.
He knelt on the step below her and pulled her to him with his hands at her waist. His lips touched down on her belly, just below her navel. Her stomach contracted beneath his touch and a soft sound of pleasure escaped her lips.
With one arm around her hips to brace her, he parted her with his fingers and brought his mouth down on her. She jerked and her breathing hitched, coming in short gasps and sighs.
He'd only intended to taste her, but he could feel by the tension in her that she was closer to the edge than he'd thought. It wouldn't take much to push her over. He wanted to push her, to make her come for him. He slid two fingers inside her and stroked her while he continued to lave her with his tongue.
Her back arched and her legs trembled. “Jona . . .” she called, the rest of his name swallowed up by the power of her orgasm. One of her hands descended to grip his shoulder as she cried out and her body spasmed against him.
When she quieted, he stood and pulled her against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his neck, breathing heavily. For the moment she was sated but the fire still burned in him. He lifted her again and carried her to her room.
In a breathy voice she said, “Now you're just showing off.”
His only answer was a low, wicked laugh. He set her on the bed, but didn't follow her. The only illumination in the room was the light of the full moon sifting through the windows, but he felt her eyes on him, avid and watchful as he stood. He unclipped his holster from his belt and laid it on the nightstand, then took off the rest of his clothes.
He joined her then, kneeling between her parted thighs. He paused long enough to sheath himself, then covered her body with his own. He thrust into her, his body shivering as hers enveloped him. Her arms closed around him and her legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him deeper. He thrust into her again and again, the heat of her body acting like a fever within him. Perspiration coated his skin and his heartbeat trebled. His mouth met hers for one wild kiss and then another.
He pulled back, enough to see her face. She regarded him with dark, half-closed eyes. Her hand lifted to stroke the side of his face. “Jon,” she whispered. Then her eyes squeezed shut and her legs tightened around him as her hips rocked against him.
He shut his eyes and let his own orgasm overtake him, making him tremble and pulling low, ragged groans from somewhere deep in his chest. Fearing she wouldn't be able to tolerate his weight, he rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. Reaching over, he pulled the sheet from the other side of the bed to cover them.
For a long time, he lay with her cradled against his chest, recovering. When his breathing was somewhat normal again, he brushed her hair from her face. “How are you feeling?”
“Pretty damn good.” She lifted her head to smile down at him. “But you already knew that.”
He did, but he didn't mind hearing her say so.
She drew a line down his chest with her fingertip. “Don't go turning into some cocky cop on me.”
“I wouldn't dream of it, for another few minutes, at least.”
She groaned at his attempt at humor and laid her forehead against his chest. His hand rose to massage her nape. “Why don't you try to get some sleep? We have to get out of here early tomorrow.”
“We? Where am I going?”
She really must be out of it if the danger here hadn't occurred to her. “You can't stay here, Dana. Obviously they know where you live or close enough to it to be a threat.”
“I'll buy that, but truthfully, I don't have anywhere else to go.”
“I'll take you to Joanna's.”
“Absolutely not. The last thing she needs is to bring her new baby home and have to worry about me. I won't put her family in danger by being there. I'll get a room at the Sheraton until you catch these idiots.”
He appreciated her show of faith that he'd have things resolved before she bankrupted her pocketbook, but for more reasons than one, he couldn't do that. “You want me to leave you somewhere alone?”
“What's my alternative?”
“You could stay with me.”
She leaned both of her forearms on his chest and looked down at him. “I
can
stay with you?”
“Of course.” His gaze narrowed. “Why do you say it like that?”
“That
can
, does it mean you are willing to let me stay with you or is it a, ‘Since you've already got those lovely handcuffs on, why don't you come on and visit us at the stationhouse?' sort of
can
?”
How the hell was he supposed to answer that? “Am I planning to drag you out of here by your hair? Not unless you force me to. We both agreed that you can't stay here. I don't see what the problem is.”
“
You
wouldn't.”
Then he understood. There was a certain intimacy to a woman staying in a man's home, using his things. And despite the intimacy they'd just shared, he doubted she was willing to jump into a thing with him with both feet. They still didn't know a damn thing about each other beyond the case of mutual lust they'd temporarily sated. Still, he expected her common sense to overrule her need to protect her emotions.
“I'm not trying to get over on you, Dana, if that's what you think. I have a spare bedroom with two spare beds for you to choose from.”
She sighed and lowered her head. “I'm sorry. I just don't like not having any choices.”
He could understand that. “Is it settled then?”
She nodded. “What about Tim? He's due back two days from now.”
He'd forgotten about her brother. “I'll have someone bring him here to pick up whatever else he needs, if that's what you're worried about. Is it possible he can stay where he is?”
“Right now, he's in Florida, but I suppose he could stay with the same family he went down with. I'll have to call them in the morning.”
She laid her cheek against his chest. “I think I'm going to take your advice now about getting some sleep.”
“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”
“I'll settle for no one trying to shoot me, maim me or run me over.”
Chuckling, he wrapped his arms more tightly around her. He should probably take his own advice and get some shuteye, but he was too wound up from both the case and the woman in his arms to sleep.
As lead investigator on the case, it was his job to sort through all the information collected to separate the wheat from the chaff, the relevant from the irrelevant, the truth from the lie. In his gut he was certain that the attempts on Dana's life, Wesley's and Amanda's murders, were all tied in together and they all had something to do with Father Brendan Malone's activities and possibly his death.
He knew that somewhere underneath all the deceptions and misdirections lay a body of truth that had yet to be uncovered. He intended to find it, not only because it was his job, but because it was the only way to keep Dana safe.
That thought surprised him—that protecting the woman in his arms was more important to him than working his case. Maybe not so much that it mattered more than how much more it mattered. When had she, when had any woman, gotten so under his skin that his first priority didn't remain the job?
She stirred and mumbled something in her sleep. He couldn't make out what she said, but her distress was apparent. “Shh,” he whispered, stroking her back in a soothing manner. She quieted almost immediately, sinking against him in a way that made his body harden and his thoughts scatter.
Jonathan sighed. With him unable to sleep and her plastered against him, it was going to be a very long night.
 
 
Dana woke to the sound of thunder crashing in the distance and the slap of rain against the window. Instantly, she knew she was alone in her bed, even before she caught him standing by the window. He faced half toward her and half toward the window as if he were keeping vigil over both at the same time. His face was turned toward the window now, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Even from there she could make out the shape of his gun tucked into his open waistband.
A flash of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating his features. He looked pensive, melancholy, maybe. Or maybe she was projecting her own emotions onto him, as listening to the rain fall often made her sad. Either way, he seemed to have gone to a place he hadn't intended her to follow. She contemplated closing her eyes and pretending to be asleep, when he spoke.
“Did the rain wake you?”
Until then she hadn't been sure he knew she wasn't sleeping. “Yes.” She sat up and realized she was under the sheet and a light blanket had been spread over that. He must have done that when he got out of bed.
She drew her knees up and rested her elbows on them. Still he hadn't looked at her and her impression of his mood remained. She searched for something innocuous to say, something harmless that might somehow also lift his spirits.
That much, at least, she figured she owed him. Never before had she relied on a man for his strength or his protection or his comfort. He'd given her all three and much more. Her body still resonated with the power of their lovemaking. The scent of it still lingered in the air.
For all that she felt gratitude, and other deeper emotions she didn't want to examine too closely at the moment. For now, she'd settle for knowing what was on his mind, or failing that, erasing it from his consciousness for a few moments.
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
His head turned and he fastened his gaze on her. “Of course not.”
“Why on earth did you transfer into the 44th precinct?”
He offered her a self-deprecating smile. “The reason isn't all that strange.” He shifted to turn his back to the window and crossed his arms. “My first assignment was in the 23rd, which is a schizophrenic detail. Half the precinct's territory is the upper west side, the other half is Spanish Harlem. As you can imagine, two very different types of clientele.”
She nodded.
“The rich folks treated us like dirt because we were civil servants. The poor people treated us like dirt because we were cops. At least with the poor folks, there was some chance of building up a rapport, helping out decent people in a bad situation. Holding some dowager's poodle while she got into a cab wasn't my idea of police work. I got out of there as fast as I could.”
She could imagine how demeaning such treatment would be to a man like him. “Why homicide?”
“They asked for me. Not Shea, the current commander, but the one before him. You don't say no to that.”
Maybe most cops wouldn't, but she suspected he had more personal motives for agreeing to the transfer. She didn't press him, though. If he ever wanted to tell her, he would. She was satisfied with that.
For now, she was concerned with him, the man, not the cop. She scanned his face as another bolt of lightning hit. Lines of fatigue showed around his eyes. She wondered if he'd gotten any sleep at all or if he'd risen from the bed to prevent sleep from overtaking him.

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