The Edge of Night (10 page)

“Not that I recall. Why?”

“You and Lola look kind of similar from a distance. It’s probably nothing.”

April shivered, glancing around the deserted parking lot.

“Do you mind if I follow you home? Just to make sure you get in safe.”

“Okay,” she said, then, after a short pause, “but you’re not coming inside.”

He agreed easily, though he found her boundaries a bit odd. In the club, she’d felt secure enough to flirt with him. Now that they were alone, she seemed stiff and uncomfortable, as if he’d made untoward advances.

Shrugging, he got into his truck and turned on the engine.

He knew he shouldn’t act on his attraction to her. Apparently she didn’t want him to, so crossing the line wouldn’t be a problem. No matter how intense their physical chemistry was, or how come-hither her eyes looked, he had to listen to what her mouth said.

If a lady wasn’t available, she wasn’t available.

He waited for April to exit the parking lot before he pulled away from the curb. Her resemblance to the victim might be coincidental, but he had a hunch that it wasn’t. He wanted to stick close to her. Protect her.

April’s house was a small bungalow with a composite roof and stucco exterior. The front yard had a single fruit tree and a simple sidewalk. While she parked in the narrow garage, Noah idled by the curb, feeling frustrated on many different levels.

Just as he was about to drive forward and call it a night, he noticed an open window. The screen lay propped against the side of the house, its frame bent. A white eyelet curtain fluttered in the breeze.

There was no way April would leave the house unsecured like that. Not in this neighborhood.

“Fuck,” he said, reaching into the glove compartment for his service revolver. As soon as the gun was in his hand, he jumped out of the truck, rushing toward the front door.

It was ajar.

He nudged the door open with his shoulder, holding the gun straight out in front of him, doing a quick survey of the living room. It was clear.

April walked in from the garage, via the kitchen. When she saw him, her eyes widened with shock.

Noah shook his head, imploring her to stay quiet. Pointing his gun toward the bedroom on his right, he gestured for her to go back out the way she came. She nodded once, disappearing.

Relieved that she’d reacted sensibly, he strode forward, flipping on the light switch. The room was empty. Someone had gone through the dresser drawers, and there were items of clothing strewn across the hardwood floor.

Other than that, the space was uncluttered, the bed neatly made.

Noah found another empty room down the hall. It was Jenny’s, judging by the décor. The blanket on the bed featured a little cartoon girl with brown hair and brown eyes. He moved on, checking the rest of the house, the garage, and the backyard. There was no one.

Tucking his gun in the back of his pants, he went outside. April was standing near the curb, her arms crossed over her chest. She appeared annoyed rather than concerned.

“It looks like you had a break-in,” he said. “Where’s Jenny?”

“At the sitter’s. She stays overnight.”

She walked through the front door and into the bedroom, staring at the clothing scattered on the floor. It was mostly bras and panties, he realized. A mix of serviceable white cotton and basic black.

“Is anything missing?”

Shaking her head, she knelt to scoop up the demure lingerie.

“That’s evidence.”

“Of what, my nonexistent sex life?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “April, some rapists collect women’s underwear. They collect
victims’
underwear.”

She shoved the panties back in the drawer. “It’s not what you think. I kicked my mother out earlier this week. This room used to be hers, and she has a drug problem. I found pills taped to the underside of these drawers, so I flushed them down the toilet. She probably broke in, looking for her stash.”

Noah was silent for a moment, absorbing the information. Her conclusion was more reasonable than the one he’d jumped to.

He closed his eyes, cursing himself silently. “I’m sorry if I startled you.”

She finished putting away her things and brushed by him, taking a seat on the living-room couch. “I appreciate your investigative fervor, Officer Young, but there’s nothing to see here. It’s just your regular, everyday family dysfunction.”

He studied her face, wishing he could help her. No wonder she looked exhausted. He also figured she was embarrassed about revealing her problems—and her underwear—to a stranger.

“What’s she on?” he asked, sitting across from her.

“OxyContin, mostly.”

“There’s a methadone clinic on E Street.”

“Is it free?”

“Of course.”

She rubbed her temples. “I don’t think she’d go there. She doesn’t want help from anyone. She dates a lot of losers, but she doesn’t rely on them. I’m the only real family she has, and I haven’t heard from her since she left.” Her voice broke on the last sentence, and her shoulders slumped forward, shaking with emotion.

Noah couldn’t stand to watch a woman cry without comforting her, but something about April’s body language suggested she’d flinch away from his touch. He curled his hands into fists, wanting to do it anyway. “Addicts with no enablers are more likely to get sober,” he said. “You’re doing the best thing for her.”

She grabbed a tissue from the coffee table, casting him a questioning glance. “How do you know that?”

“I deal with drug users every day.”

“Sounds … horrible.”

He smiled. “No. It might be if I didn’t believe I could help anyone.”

She didn’t smile back at him. Crushing the tissue in her hands, she studied his mouth for a moment, her expression curious and a little confused. When she dragged her gaze back up to his, heat simmered between them.

He thought of another way to comfort her.

She moistened her lips, drawing his attention to how soft they looked, bare of lipstick and somehow vulnerable. He leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull back. She didn’t. When he touched his lips to hers, she lifted her right hand to his shoulder, steadying herself. It seemed like a blatant invitation to deepen the kiss.

Noah was happy to oblige.

She opened her mouth for him, and he delved inside, stroking his tongue over hers. The kiss went from sweet and tentative to down and dirty in record time.

Her fingernails dug into the fabric of his shirt, and he slid his arm around her waist, bringing her body closer. Her breasts flattened against his chest. She moaned against his mouth, clutching at his shoulders, exploring the muscles in his back.

When she felt his gun, they both went still.

Noah broke the kiss, breathing hard against her parted lips. “I can put it away if it bothers you.”

She eased back. “No. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m just not comfortable with … casual relationships.”

He rested his elbows on his knees, trying to quash his arousal. Unless he’d misread her, he wouldn’t be getting lucky tonight. Which was best, as they hardly knew each other. “It doesn’t have to be casual.”

“What do you mean?”

“We can go out,” he said, thinking fast.

“Why?” she asked, suspicious.

“I like you.”

“You like the way I look, you mean.”

He stared at her lips, which were a natural pinkish-brown, full and moist and very sexy. Her chest was rising and falling with each breath, her breasts straining against the Club Suave tank top. He could see the outline of her nipples. His erection throbbed in response, so he averted his gaze. “I like the way you think, too.”

She crossed her arms over her breasts, sighing.

“I also have a feeling we might … click.”

Her eyes darkened. “I don’t click.”

He laughed at her deadpan delivery, realizing that he liked her sense of humor, as well. She was irresistibly contrary, and he was more eager than ever to figure her out. “You don’t
want
to click.”

“I don’t have the time to click. Or the money,” she explained. “I’m not going to pay for an extra night’s babysitting to go out with you.”

He thought of a way around that. “Bring your daughter along.”

“What?”

“You have days off, right? We can go to the zoo, or … Wave City. My sister’s been bugging me to take her there. I’ll invite her, too.”

“She lives here?”

“She just moved in with me,” Noah admitted, hoping it would score him some nice-guy bonus points.

She narrowed her eyes at him, still wary. “If I offered you one night with me—one night only—or one friendly date, no kiss, no follow-up, which would you take?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“Which would you take?” she repeated.

“Neither. I’ve never slept with a woman I wasn’t dating. And, no offense, but I don’t want to be ‘just friends.’ ”

Maybe that was too blunt, because she fell silent.

“I’m not asking for a relationship or a major commitment. I only want you to give me a chance. This may not go anywhere. We could be all wrong for each other. I might find out that you hate baseball. Or drown kittens.”

She didn’t seem to think that was funny. “You play baseball?”

“I used to. Now I coach. Little League.”

“You like kids?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Do you want some of your own?”

“Sure, eventually.”

“How many?”

He’d never really thought about it. “One or two, I guess. How about you?”

She shook her head. “Maybe after I finish school. Eventually, like you said. I was an only child, and it was lonely sometimes. I think Jenny feels the same way.”

He pictured Jenny’s cute little face, scrunched up as she stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re going to school?”

“I start SDSU this fall.”

“What are you studying?”

“Social service.”

Noah didn’t need to hear any more. She was nice, and smart, and wanted to help others. Plus, she was so fucking
hot
, he couldn’t stand it. “One date,” he said. “Wave City. Jenny will have fun. If it doesn’t work out between us, no big deal.”

She nibbled on her lower lip, considering.

“When’s your next day off?”

“Sunday.”

“I have Sunday off, too. I’ll pick you up at ten.”

“Okay,” she said finally.

Noah was flattered by her capitulation. He’d seen the way she interacted with the men at the club, so he believed her when she said she didn’t date. She was polite but inaccessible. She probably shot down customers all the time. The fact that she was tempted by
him
, when no one else could get close to her, gave him a surge of male pride.

He said goodbye with a brief kiss, barely touching his lips to hers. As he strode down the sidewalk, he felt like pumping his fist in the air.

Now he just had to find a break in the case, and he’d be on top of the world.

Of course, he knew that getting involved with her was against the rules. But it seemed like a minor infraction, a matter of discretion. He wasn’t the lead investigator, and she wasn’t a suspect. Even so, he’d have to tread carefully.

He didn’t stop thinking about April, replaying their kiss, weighing the consequences, until he got home. And saw the note from Meghan.

9

Eric was aware that Meghan and Jack had
left the bonfire, but he couldn’t do anything about it with Cristina on his lap. Dumping her off would humiliate her in front of everyone, so he held still and hoped she’d get the hint that he wasn’t interested.

Meghan was wasted. He’d known the instant she stumbled toward him, her smile crooked, eyes half lidded. She’d been too drunk to walk before she’d taken that hit of chronic. Now she was probably spinning.

Thanks to Jack.

Although Eric wasn’t responding to Cristina’s overtures, she continued to undulate on top of him, nipping at his lower lip. She had a light touch, and he didn’t dislike it. Frowning, he put his hands on her hips to move her aside. Unfortunately, his fingertips found the exposed skin above her jeans, and she drew in an excited breath.

“I have to check on Meghan,” he said.

She stopped kissing him. “Why?”

“She’s messed up.”

“Jack’s with her.”

“That’s what I’m worried about. Get off me.”

Her eyes narrowed. Not ready to unstake her claim, she switched tactics. “You really like her, don’t you? I think she likes you, too.” She put her lips close to his ear.

“Let’s ditch Jack and go back to your place, just the three of us.”

Eric tried not to picture that scenario. He really did. But his mind was open to her suggestion, and his body wasn’t immune to her touch. He could feel the heat of her
concha
rubbing against his fly. If his hands drifted any lower, he’d be cupping her ass.

“I could talk her into it,” she murmured, licking his earlobe.

“Wait here,” he said, scrambling out from underneath her. “I’ll go get her.”

As soon as he was thinking clearly again, his blood cooled by the breeze coming off the Pacific, he discarded the idea. Even if Meghan agreed to Cristina’s … experiment, she was in no condition to participate.

The only thing she’d be caressing tonight was a toilet bowl.

“Baboso,”
he muttered, kicking himself. He’d wasted several minutes letting Cristina cock-tease him, and now he wasn’t sure which direction Jack had gone. The pier offered would-be lovers a modicum of privacy, so he headed that way.

As lights from the bonfire faded, his concern for Meghan grew. Jack wouldn’t have gone this far to let Meghan puke.

He started to jog, then sprint, down the beach.

There were two figures beneath the pier, locked in struggle. Eric could hear Meghan screaming. Although the area was steeped in shadow, and the moon had slipped behind the clouds, he knew exactly what was happening.

Jack was holding her down. Raping her.

Eric felt a cold, dark fury overcome him. He’d witnessed this kind of scene before, and he’d been frozen, unable to stop it. Never again. Now he was strong enough to take action. He raced toward them, clenching his hand into a fist. The first punch he threw carried ten years of pent-up rage with it.

Jack hadn’t seen him coming, so he wasn’t braced for the blow. He fell off Meghan, slumping to his side in the sand. He appeared dumbfounded.

His fly was undone, and his dick was out.

“You motherfucker,” Eric said from between clenched teeth, grabbing the top of Jack’s scraggly hair. He drew back his fist and sent it flying, wailing on him hard. He struck again and again, smashing flesh, breaking bones.

“It’s not what you think!” Jack screamed, gripping Eric’s wrists. His eyes were swollen and his lips bloody.

Eric glanced at Meghan, who was fastening her jeans. Her panties lay on the sand, torn from her body. Tears streaked her pretty face.

“You’re going to wish you were dead,” Eric said, ramming his knee into Jack’s nose. His efforts were rewarded by a satisfying crunch. Jack shrieked in pain and curled into the fetal position, covering his head with his arms.

Disgusted by his cowardice, Eric kicked him while he was down.

Jack groaned and stayed put.
“Puto,”
Eric spat. “If I ever see you again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

One beating, however severe, wasn’t punishment enough, in his opinion. But a voice in the back of his head whispered a warning to move on. He picked up Meghan’s underwear and put them in his pocket, leaving Jack semiconscious on the sand.

When he offered her his hand, she flinched, shrinking away from him.

“Let’s go,” he said gently. “His friends might come.”

After a brief hesitation, she took his hand and he helped her to her feet. When her knees buckled, he hooked her arm around his neck and encircled her waist, practically carrying her down the beach.

He kept moving forward, urging her along. He was worried that Jack’s surfer buddies would catch up to him and misunderstand the situation. If they did, he wouldn’t be able to protect Meghan. Eric was a good fighter, but he couldn’t take on a group.

“I’m going to be sick,” she moaned.

He set her down immediately, and she hunched forward, retching. The sickly sweet smell of fruit punch made his own stomach queasy. He glanced away, grimacing. When she was finished, her eyes were watery and her mouth wet.

“Take this,” he said, offering her his bandanna.

“Thanks.”

“Better now?”

“Yes. Much.”

He led her away from the mess, pulling her head against his shoulder. She pressed her face against his shirt. “I’m sorry,” she said, hot tears spilling out her eyes.

“For what?”

“Getting so wasted. Acting like a slut.” He hugged her closer, comforting her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Y-yes I did,” she sobbed.

“We should call the police.”

She clung to the front of his shirt, terrified. “No.”

“Your brother, then.”

“No, I can’t. He’ll make me go back to my parents.”

“Meghan—”

“Nothing happened!”

“You were screaming. Your clothes are torn.”

She followed his gaze down her chest. Her top was gaping open, exposing her bra. Clutching the fabric together, she sank to a sitting position in the sand.

“Did he hit you?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Did he rape you?”

She shook her head. “He kissed me once … and I let him. I don’t remember much else. The police would arrest you, not him.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I think you should report it.”

“In the morning,” she said. “When I’m sober.”

Eric didn’t like that idea, and he wasn’t sure he believed her about the attack. He knew Jack hadn’t finished. Maybe Eric had arrived in time, and he hadn’t really started yet.

Then again, it was just as likely that Meghan was telling him what he wanted to hear. She was reluctant to talk to the police, afraid of disappointing her brother and her parents. April had never reported Raul’s abuse, either.

Eric understood a lot about guilt and shame and silence.

If she decided not to turn Jack in, that was her business. Eric had already exacted a bit of vigilante justice, the kind he preferred. He also wasn’t keen on getting arrested for assault. The police would take the word of a middle-class white kid over his any day.

“Come on,” he said. “There’s a public restroom up ahead.”

At the entrance to the restrooms, he paused, taking off his shirt. He thought about giving her the polo, but the sleeveless undershirt exposed his upper arms, and he was in enemy territory. It wasn’t wise for him to strut around, flashing CVL tats in Imperial Beach.

He removed the undershirt, handing it to her.

She stared at his inked-up torso, her eyes flat. Most of the script was in Spanish and the symbols identifiable only to other gang members, so she wouldn’t understand it. But she did seem to realize that he wasn’t the person she thought he was.

“Thanks,” she said stiffly, taking his shirt.

While she went into the ladies’ room, he walked around to the men’s, washing Jack’s blood off his hands. His knuckles were raw and swollen but not broken. Letting them drip dry, he sat down at the picnic tables, waiting for Meghan.

She came out a few minutes later, wearing his undershirt. It was too big for her, so it gaped at the sides, revealing her bra. She appeared to have washed her face, but her eye makeup was still smudged.

There was something sexy about the sight of her in his shirt, and he wished he was responsible for her disarray. He would much rather have ended this evening the way Cristina had suggested.

Uncomfortable with the direction of his thoughts, he took out his phone and sent Cristina a quick text message, letting her know he was leaving with Meghan.

Sitting down across from him, Meghan said, “Give me your hand.” She must have used his bandanna to wash up, because it was damp. Now she wrapped his knuckles in the cool cloth, tying a knot to secure it. “Why do you carry this?”

“Why do you think?”

“Are you a gangster?”

He shook his head. Not denying it. Just amazed at her naïveté. “Is your brother’s house far from here?”

She looked around, as if she had no clue where they were. “It’s on Verde Avenue.”

“We can walk.”

They started off in that direction, heading east, traveling through a cross section of backstreets. She leaned on him heavily, but he didn’t mind holding her up. “Do you think Jack drugged me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re conscious.”

“I’m really out of it.”

“Have you ever mixed pot and hard alcohol before?”

“I’ve never tried either.”

He grunted, shifting her weight to the other side. “That explains it.”

After they’d walked several miles, Eric turned right, away from the quiet neighborhoods. Soon they were in sight of an all-night restaurant, garishly painted with green and yellow stripes.
Taco Tico, open 24 hours
, the sign read.

He’d been here before, and the food was okay. They both needed to rest, and she’d feel better if she ate. “Are you hungry?”

She shuddered. “No.”

“You should eat something.”

“I want to sit down.”

“After we order.”

Nodding her agreement, she straightened her shoulders, trying to look more alert. He put his hand at the small of her back, ushering her into the restaurant. It was really just a taco stand, with some red tables and an order window.

As soon as they came through the door, he realized his mistake. This was a neutral area, but it was still Imperial Beach. He should have paid attention to who was inside. There were a couple of Eastside guys sitting near the entrance.

Eric’s heart sank. Beating a hasty retreat was out of the question. But he didn’t know any of them by name, so maybe they didn’t know him, either. Keeping his left hand on Meghan’s waist, he slipped his right into his pocket, hiding the bandanna around his knuckles.

They didn’t make eye contact.

While Eric ordered a few items from the menu, Meghan leaned against the counter, squinting under the artificial lighting. Taking money out of his wallet without revealing his colors was tricky, but he managed. After paying for the food, he put his arm around Meghan, leading her back outside.

Luckily, the
chavalas
ignored him in favor of ogling her. When a pretty girl walked into a dive like this, she got stared at. The time of night and her obvious inebriation made her fair game for lewd comments.

“Cuanto cuesta?”
one of the guys asked.

“Un burrito,”
another answered, and they all laughed.

Eric ignored them.

There was a round table out front with two plastic chairs. He offered one to Meghan and grabbed another for himself.

“What did they say?” she whispered.

“Nothing.”

“I want to know.”

“The first guy asked how much you charged. The other guy said, ‘One burrito.’ ”

She groaned, rubbing her eyes. “Do I look like a drugged-out prostitute?”

“No,” he said, studying her face. Even with mussed hair and streaked mascara, she was cute. Most of the crack whores he’d seen were older women who had bad skin and worse teeth. “You’re young and beautiful. It was a stupid joke.”

The Eastside boys left the restaurant without saying anything else, and soon their food was ready. He set the tray down on the table. There was a burrito wrapped in yellow paper for him and a Styrofoam cup for her.

She opened the lid. “What’s this?”

“Tortilla soup. It’s good.”

After taking a tentative spoonful, she made a murmur of approval. Her stomach couldn’t have handled a rich meal, but the soup was mild, with bits of chicken and vegetables and softened strips of tortilla.

Eric popped the top of his soda can, and they ate for a few moments in silence. Meghan’s cheeks took on a healthier color. The effects of the marijuana had worn off, he suspected, and she was beginning to come out of the alcohol-induced fog.

She studied the bandanna over his hand, frowning. “Did you give that pot to Jack?”

“No.”

“Did you
sell
it to him?”

He took another bite of his burrito, not answering.

“Do you do drugs?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Why not tonight?”

“I can’t let my guard down at a party like that.”