Djinn and Tonic (11 page)

“Hello?”
 

“Leila.” Carson’s deep voice washes over me, and I feel a rush of joy. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No, not at all. It’s just—I didn’t think I’d given you my number. I meant to, but…”

“Oh, I got it from the case file. I hope that’s okay.” He hesitates, and I take the moment to gather frazzled nerves and inject some strength into my voice. “I just wanted to talk to you. Are you busy?”

If he asks me out, I know I won’t be able to say no. I should, but I won’t.
 

“No,” I say. “I’m not doing much. Just…cleaning up a bit, you could say.”

“I thought maybe you’d like to meet somewhere for dinner.”

Suddenly, I’m ravenous. “Sure! That sounds great. Where should I meet you?” I hate how eager I sound.

“Xochimilco’s, maybe? Somewhere like that?” I can hear excitement and relief in his voice.

“Okay.” My heart is hammering in my chest.
 

I know I shouldn’t do this. If Hassan finds out, it would be bad for me and worse for Carson. I know it, but I can’t stop myself. The words are tumbling out before I can stop them, like my heart is acting without my brain, like my heart is in control and my common sense is left out entirely.

“We’ll meet outside Xochimilco’s, then”
 

“I’ll be there in…maybe half an hour? I need to get ready.”

 
“That’s fine.”
 

“See you soon,” I say.

“Sounds good. Bye.” He hangs up, and I’m relieved.
 

I shower and get dressed faster than I ever have before, my heart hammering with excitement and my stomach twisting and lurching. Unsurprisingly, I hesitate over what to wear. Eventually I decide on a summery orange sundress, not too slinky or revealing but still sexy. I’m nervous. I haven’t been on a date in a long time. And this
is
a date, no mistake about it.

I try not to wonder how far things will go tonight. I’m not very successful, because as I drive to meet Carson, my thoughts keep running back to the image I had of him in my bathtub, long limbs wrapped around me, muscular arms drawing me close to his hard body…

God, I’m in so much trouble. I’ve had that thought so many times now, and every time the amount of trouble I’m in where he’s concerned has increased.
 

My earlier thought flits unbidden through my mind:
I’m in love with Carson Hale
. I just have to hope I can keep that thought under control tonight, especially my impulse to tell him everything.

Chapter 9: Wind-Borne

Carson

I stand outside Xochimilco’s, waiting for Leila.
 

I’m already attached, and it feels good, even if she isn’t telling me everything.

I shove the questions away. I can’t worry about any of that; either she’ll tell me, or she won’t. It’s her choice, and I have no right to demand the truth from her, no matter how much I need to know, no matter how much dishonesty pisses me off.
 

Then she’s here, swaying toward me in a short orange dress, the hem brushing an inch above her knees. It’s not super low-cut or immodest, but the way it drapes her body shows off her curves in a way that makes my breath catch. Her thick black hair is loose around her shoulders, blown by the slight breeze drifting between the buildings in downtown Detroit.
 

I stay where I am as she approaches, trying to cover my sudden rush of nerves; this girl affects me in strange ways. She reaches me, hesitates a moment, and then presses up against me in a long, soft embrace. Her arms are around my neck, her lips against my cheek and now on my lips tasting, as always, of cherry lip balm. Her full breasts are crushed against my chest, and my hands skim down her back to curl around her backside.

She pulls her face away to look at me, smirking in coy amusement. “Oh really?”
 

“What?” I ask, feigning innocence.

Leila shakes her head, laughing, but doesn’t move my hands. My heart is hammering in my chest. I hadn’t meant to put my hands there, but when I felt her body pressed against me, I just couldn’t help myself.
 

She doesn’t seem to mind, though, and even pushes back into my hands for a moment before backing away from me.

“Dinner?” Leila asks. “As much as I wouldn’t mind making out all night with your hands on me, I
am
hungry.”

I reluctantly step away and dig my hand into my pocket so I don’t grab her lush ass again. “Do you want to go into Xochimilco’s, or find somewhere else?”
 

“Oh, this is fine,” Leila says, pointing to the restaurant behind us. “I’ve never been here before.”
 

We go in and are seated after a short wait. I order us some chips and salsa and a pitcher of sangria. We spend a few minutes perusing the menu, even though I know it by heart at this point. I’m careful to keep the conversation light and innocent, keep it away from anything that might lead to awkward questions I know she won’t answer.

Despite the small talk and the good food I can sense that she’s…distant? I’m not sure if that’s the right word. It feels like she’s not entirely here with me, as if part of her is somewhere else, focused on another problem. I recognize the behavior, as it’s something I myself do all too frequently.
 

When I’m working a case, it tends to overwhelm my entire being, even when I’m off-duty. I’ll be talking to someone and, on the surface, I’ll be listening and paying attention, eyes making full contact, nodding and agreeing and responding in all the right places, but I would never be completely
there
. Part of me is always locked away and working, examining facts and evidence and problems. Leila is in that mode. She listens to me talk about some of my less morbid cases and funny stories from my days as a patrol officer, but I can tell her mind is elsewhere.

I stop in the middle of a story and change tracks. “Is there anything wrong? You just seem like you’ve got something bothering you.”

Leila shakes her head. “No, no, I’m fine. I’m sorry.”

I reach across the table and take her hand. “Look, Leila…I know there are things you can’t or won’t talk to me about, and I’ve promised both of us that I won’t pry. But I can tell you’ve got something heavy going on in that pretty head of yours. If you don’t want to talk about it, fine, but just…whatever it is, know that I won’t pass judgment, and I’ll do my best to help you if you’ll let me. All I’m saying is, you don’t have to put on a game face for me, okay?”

Leila smiles at me, and squeezes my hand. “I know I’ve been kind of…I don’t know…evasive, or whatever. It’s not that I’m trying to keep secrets from you, it’s just that there are things I simply can’t talk about. With anyone, not just with you. I know that probably only makes the curiosity worse, and I’m sorry.”
 

“So there’s nothing bothering you? For real?” I can’t stop the question from popping out.

Leila sighs, exasperated. “There is something, yes. I’m not going to lie to you about that. You’re a cop; you’re trained to read people. But can you just…just let it go, for now? I promise, I’ll explain it all when I can.
If
I can. I just want to be here with you, have a good time, and try not to think about it. Okay? Please?”

I sense a desperation hidden in her words, and don’t know what to make of it. On one hand, she’s only made my curiosity worse, but on the other hand, I can clearly see she can’t talk about whatever is eating at her. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to push away all the questions yet again.
 

The evasions are putting up a wall between us, and I want to break it down, but I just don’t know how. I have to let it go, try to push it all away and simply enjoy the time I have with her.

“Okay.” I reach out and take her hand. “I hear you loud and clear. No more questions, no more pushing. The last thing I’ll say is this: you’re not alone, in whatever you’re going through. At least, you don’t have to be. I’m here, and if you need
anything
, all you have to do is ask. I’ll be there, and I’ll do whatever is in my power to do, okay?”

Leila nods, visibly fighting emotion. “Thank you, Carson. You don’t—you don’t know what it means to me to hear that.”

“I’ve been on my own my entire adult life,” I tell her. “So I think I kind of do, at least a little.”

She forces a smile. “So. How ’bout them Tigers, huh?”

I laugh. “Nice try. I thought you might want to know, I officially closed Miriam’s case.”

A more genuine smile, this time. “Good. I think, personally speaking, that you made the right decision. I’m not in your shoes, obviously, but from everything you told me…I’m not sure you’d ever get the answers you’re looking for, at least not that you could take anywhere official. If you’ve had this hard a time believing the evidence you’ve seen with your own eyes, imagine how hard it’d be to make a case for people who have only your word on everything?”

I nod. “Exactly. I
saw
it, with my own eyes. I saw what Miriam could do, and I still have a hard time believing it. My captain is by-the-books, show-me-hard-evidence-or-you’ve-got-nothing. I’d never convince her of the case I’d have to make with the evidence I do have.”

Leila moves the subject after that to the latest summer blockbuster movies, and I let her, all too willing to put that case behind me. Leila seems grateful that I’m willing to let the subject be changed, and she makes an obvious effort to focus on me rather than her internal debate.
 

When we finish eating, I pay the bill and we leave the restaurant, strolling out into the warm evening. My car isn’t far away, so I drive us across the city and find a parking space off of West Jefferson Avenue, then tangle my hand in Leila’s and lead her across the busy street and past the huge metal fist of Joe Louis to the river’s edge. We lean side by side on the railing, watching boats ply the wide river, the lights of Windsor bright in the lowering dark of night, now just two people lost in the summer crowd of a beautiful Detroit evening.
 

Leila seems content to simply stand next to me and hold my hand, and I’m not inclined to break the silence either. After a while, Leila turns and puts her back against the railing, pulling me to face her, her hands on my shoulders.

“Carson, look. I’m not being fair to you. I know I’m not. It’s ridiculous of me to have all these secrets, and tell you they’re there, but not tell you about them. Especially with you being the kind of man you are—”

“What kind of man am I?” I ask.

“Well, you’re a detective. You have this drive to know the truth. Like Miriam’s case? You were obsessed with it. Every time you came into the bar, you were brooding over it. You couldn’t let it go.” Leila pulls me closer and I slide my hands around her waist, nodding for her to continue.
 

 
“So here’s something I
can
tell you: My dad…sometimes his business isn’t entirely…legal, okay? Don’t ask me to elaborate, but that’s part of why I’m hesitant to talk about my past.”

“I guessed as much when you told me he was a ‘businessman’,” I say, making air quotes with my fingers.

“Okay, so that’s part of it, and it makes it tough on me. I don’t really want anything to do with his business, legitimate or otherwise. Plus, I’m still a woman, and according to his beliefs, women have no place in business. Yet he has all these expectations of me, and I…I can’t meet them. I just…can’t. Except if I don’t, I’ll end up alienating my whole family, and they’re all I have. They’re already close to disowning me for moving here, you know, for leaving them and for not being…‘
traditional
.’” She says that word with bitterness. “Plus, my dad is having trouble with his business, with the…the not-so-legal side of things, if you know what I mean? So I’m worried for him on top of everything else because, as I’m sure you’re aware, criminals aren’t exactly…forgiving.”

 
I nod, absorbing and processing what she said. It has the ring of truth, but it still leaves me with more questions than answers; Leila is obviously trying to put my curiosity at ease without revealing anything too compromising.
 

“Listen, I don’t care what your dad does. It’s out of my jurisdiction, for one thing. I’m a small-time Detroit detective, okay? I’m not DEA or FBI or anything, so there’s nothing I can do anyway. Even if I wanted to make a claim or a report, I’d need evidence to get them to make a move. And I’ve got enough on my plate going on in Detroit that I just don’t have the attention to spare to look into some drug dealer in Chicago, or whatever it is he does. But all of that aside, I understand if you can’t talk about it, even though I suspected as much anyway. But—” I hesitate, and then go for broke, speaking the deep-down truth.
 

I rub the stubble on my cheek, then return my hand to her waist. “That’s not what’s really bothering me, Leila. It’s that you don’t trust me. I know we’ve only known each other a short time, and I have no right to demand every little secret and detail about you and your life, but…I
want
them. That’s the honest truth, Leila. I
want
all the details, and I want the secrets. I want you to trust me.” I grip her waist tightly, pin her with my eyes, let her see into me. “The other part of what I’m feeling here is that I
know
there’s more to it than just your dad’s occupation, legal or otherwise. That’s another evasion, a half-truth, or a truth meant to distract me from the deeper reality. There’s something else, something major that you’re holding back.”

Leila tries to speak, but I hold up a hand. “Just wait a second, please. Just let me say this. I like you, Leila. I like you a lot. God, that sounds so juvenile, like we’re in grade school or some shit. ‘Do you like me, check yes or no.’ You know? But I…I want to
be
with you.” The words stick in my throat, not wanting to come out, but I force them out, push them past the lump of nerves. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever known in my life, and I’m crazy attracted to you, on every level. But, if you have these secrets, I’m honestly not sure where this can go. If you have issues to resolve, or whatever, I can wait. I can give you time, if that’s what you need.”