The Edge of Night (24 page)

Despite their last argument, Noah still considered Patrick a friend.

Patrick’s house looked the same as always. His front yard was clipped, green, precise. The
Aurora Lee
, his fishing boat, gleamed in the noonday sun. Noah parked at the curb and strode up the sidewalk, feeling surly.

Patrick answered the door in the same mood. He was wearing flannel pajama pants and a gaping robe. His eyes were bloodshot, and he smelled like booze.

“Can I come in?” Noah asked.

“Suit yourself.”

The interior of the house wasn’t quite as tidy as the outside. It was dark and depressing. The curtains in the living room were tightly drawn. There was a faint, musty odor Noah associated with old men. A mixture of unwashed skin and mothballs.

He didn’t feel like sitting down.

“Want a beer?”

“No. I have to work.”

Patrick snorted. He grabbed himself a can, popped it open, and sat down on his recliner. Taking a sip, he stared at the blank television screen.

“I had a talk with Santiago yesterday.”

He kept drinking and staring.

“He said you asked him to turn down my application.”

Patrick leaned back in his chair. “So?”

“Do you have a reason for going out of your way to fuck me over,” Noah asked quietly, “other than not wanting the hassle of training a new partner before you retire?”

He pointed a thick finger at Noah. “My recommendation was based on your performance, short pants. You’re not tough enough for homicide.”

“Because I’m not a racist asshole like you?”

Patrick scowled. “You think all these Mexi kids are misguided—”

“They are.”

“Even the one who pulled a gun on you?”

“An isolated incident,” Noah said. “Why would I judge an entire group of people based on the actions of one?”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he yelled, his voice breaking. “I asked Santiago to pass you over for your own good. Because I care about you, you shit-head.” He took another swig of beer, chagrined by his emotional outburst. “I think you need a few more years on patrol. You’re too trusting.”

Noah sank down on a brown wool couch, feeling some of his anger seep away. If Patrick had done what he thought was right, Noah couldn’t fault him for it. On the other hand, Patrick’s judgment was biased. He assumed every kid on the street was a threat and every woman a whore. He’d lost his ability to relate to honest, law-abiding citizens.

How could a cop protect and serve a community he hated?

Noah wished Patrick was more like Santiago. Tough but fair. Kind, even. Although they’d spoken only a handful of times, Noah respected his prospective boss much more than his current partner.

“I told Santiago about April. He didn’t seem to think it was a problem.”

“Maybe he’s setting you up.”

“Why would he do that?”

Patrick made a sour face. “To have a convenient fall guy when the investigation goes nowhere. Don’t you think it’s odd that he assigned two gang-unit cops so much responsibility in a high-profile case?”

“The department is shorthanded. And … he thinks I have good instincts.”

Patrick smirked drunkenly. “Good instincts? You wouldn’t know a perp if he was sitting right in front of you.”

Noah’s patience expired. “What’s your real beef with Santiago? Did he call you out on your prejudices, when the two of you were partners? Admit it—you can’t stand to see a brown-skinned man move up in the ranks.”

Patrick shook his head, drinking more beer. “I didn’t want that job, anyway.”

“That’s it,” Noah said, astounded. “You both applied to homicide at the same time, and he was promoted instead of you.”

“Only because I’m white.”

“You’re pathetic.”

With a strangled sound of rage, Patrick lumbered to his feet. Alcohol made him slow, but it didn’t rob his strength. He grabbed Noah by the front of his shirt, drawing back his meaty arm to take a swing.

Dodging the clumsy blow, Noah shoved him off.

Patrick stumbled back into his chair. His beer can tipped over, its contents fizzing on the blue carpet.

“If you ever try that again, I’ll request reassignment.”

“Don’t bother,” Patrick muttered, out of breath. “I resigned.”

Noah stared back at him in disgust. He couldn’t respect a man who refused to own up to his mistakes. According to Patrick, his ethnicity, not his attitude, had kept him from succeeding. His “cheating, no-good” wife had left him.

Now he had nothing. No career, no family. Just a dark, empty house and a fishing boat named after a woman he let get away.

“I’m sorry it ended like this,” Noah said, and let himself out.

Noah’s patrol shift dragged that evening. He tried not to replay the emotional scenes between April and him, or his caustic argument with Patrick.

An impromptu DUI arrest ate up only half the night.

Santiago’s team had been consulting with the FBI and following some new leads, but they weren’t keeping Noah in the loop. The cold-case file he’d been studying offered little information. Although the body was in an advanced state of decomposition when it was found eight years ago, swabs had been taken and sent to the crime lab for DNA analysis.

The file showed no record of the results.

Noah left a voice-mail message at the lab, wondering if there had been a mix-up with the paperwork.

Both of the recent victims had tested negative for DNA. Using a condom might be part of the killer’s m.o. If Noah could find another connection, linking the cold case to the current murders, he’d have a great lead.

When his shift was over, he showered and changed into his street clothes, thinking about April. When he’d left her, she was hurting. That didn’t sit well with him. He decided to stop by her house again on his way home.

He wanted another chance to win her over.

Thankfully, she was home and awake. She answered the door in pinstriped pajama bottoms and a ribbed tank top. Although she wasn’t wearing a bra, and an inch of smooth belly was visible above the waistband of her pajamas, he was riveted by her face. Clear of makeup, she was breathtaking.

Not that he didn’t like her smoky eyes and painted lips. But this stripped-bare April appealed to him on a deeper level.

She stepped aside, letting him in.

“You didn’t work tonight?”

“No. I wanted to be here for Jenny.”

“How is she?”

“Distraught,” she said, sitting down on the couch. “It took her a long time to fall asleep.” Tucking her legs under her bottom, she picked up a steaming mug from the end table, wrapping her hands around its warmth.

He sat down next to her, resting his arm on the back of the couch. “How are you?”

She took a sip of tea, her brows lifting. “Me? I’m okay.”

Noah smiled at her surprised expression. He supposed that she was so used to taking care of others and considering their needs that she rarely thought of her own.

“My father died when I was two,” she said after a pause. “I never knew him.
Mamá
didn’t talk about him at all, so I created this character in my head. Someone who walked me to school and read me bedtime stories. It was silly.”

“No,” he said.

“I should have expected Jenny to do the same. To imagine a kinder, gentler Raul. It’s going to crush her to find out the truth, but I have to tell her someday. I want her to know what happened, to protect her from making the same mistakes.”

Noah wondered if he’d ever faced such a difficult decision. Keeping Meghan’s secret came close.

“What’s your dad like?” she asked.

He didn’t want to give a pat answer, so he replied honestly. “Difficult,” he said. “Distant.”

“Did he read bedtime stories?”

“No. Most of his time was spent on church business and sermons. But he did throw the baseball at me every once in a while.”

“That sounds nice.”

He shrugged. “I remember one day he was hitting grounders for me in the backyard. I was wearing my favorite shirt, and I didn’t want to get it dirty because I was going to the movies with Jamie Simpson afterward.”

“Jamie Simpson,” she scoffed, taking another sip of tea. “How old were you?”

“Thirteen, I think. Anyway, he kept hitting them out of my range, telling me to quit whining and run hard. I dove for the next ball.” He showed her the thin scar on his elbow. “Ten stitches. Hit a rock.”

“Did he feel bad?”

“Hell, no. He laughed and said, ‘Atta boy.’ ”

“Was your mom upset?”

“Sure. I ruined a new shirt.”

“Hmm. Are you trying to say that your childhood wasn’t perfect?”

“It was pretty good,” he allowed. “Better than a lot of kids get.”

April had obviously been one of the unlucky ones, but she didn’t admit that, and he didn’t press her for details.

He hadn’t come here to make her cry again.

They fell into an awkward silence. Noah didn’t know what else to say. He’d apologized and brought gifts. He wanted to be with her, desperately, but she seemed more reluctant than ever to take a chance on the relationship.

While he studied her, wishing she’d give him another shot, she stared back at him, moistening her lips.

She had the sexiest mouth he’d ever seen.

“I forgot something earlier,” he decided.

She set her tea aside. “The briefcase? I’ll get it.”

“No,” he said, reaching out to cup her face. He slid his hand along the side of her neck, his thumb brushing her cheek. Maybe it was cheating to kiss her when she was vulnerable. But he would do anything to make her his again. “This.”

He lowered his head, covering her mouth with his.

She tasted hot and sweet, like honey. Her lips trembled, parting for his tongue, and he swept inside, coaxing her. Coercing her. She lifted her hands to his hair, threading her fingers through it, and he moved closer, deepening the kiss.

Then she placed her hands on his chest, halting his progress. “Is that all you forgot?”

His gaze dropped to her lips. They were swollen from kissing. He remembered what she’d whispered in his ear the other night and felt heat pool in his groin. “I was hoping you’d ask me for another favor before I left.”

Her eyes darkened. “You liked that?”

“Yes,” he said in a hoarse voice, dragging her hand to his lap. He shaped her palm over his erection, showing her how much he liked it.

She trailed her fingertips along his fly, squeezing him firmly.

With a groan, he kissed her again, tasting every inch of her delicious mouth. When they came up for air, she said, “My request is a little different this time.”

As long as it required use of her bedroom, he was game. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

She touched her lips to his ear. “Make love to me.”

Noah went stock-still and stone-hard. He didn’t know how any command could be sexier than “fuck me.” Somehow, this one was. She was giving him permission to take his time, to make it meaningful.

He couldn’t wait to do her bidding.

Picking her up off the couch, he carried her into the bedroom, tossing her on the mattress. A lamp on the nightstand lent the space a warm glow. “Lock the door,” she said, tugging off her tank top.

He did, pulling his shirt over his head.

In the next instant, her lush body was stretched out beneath his. She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched her back, rubbing her stiff nipples against his bare chest. Shaking with anticipation, he took her mouth again. He molded his hands over her bottom, holding her in place for his thrusts.

It occurred to him that he was close to losing his control. He’d never wanted a woman with such intensity, and it drove him right to the edge. The urge to tear her pants off and bury himself in her was hard to resist.

He shifted his weight to the side, trying to set a slower pace. Moving his mouth from hers, he kissed his way down her body. His lips touched the hollow of her throat, her collarbone, the inner curves of her breasts, her pouting nipples. At her sleek belly he paused, nuzzling her navel. Untying the drawstring at her waist, he tugged her pajamas down her hips.

Her panties were very white and very brief. The scrap of lace cupped her femininity, framing the juncture of her thighs.

Noah’s breath caught in his throat.

He kissed the front of her panties, feeling her heat against his lips. He looked up at her, gauging her reaction. “Any … other requests?”

“That,” she said.

He stripped her panties off. Her naked body was so lovely, he just wanted to stare at it. Although his cock was straining against his fly, throbbing for attention, he couldn’t resist drawing out this moment.

Putting his hands on her hips, he brought her to the edge of the bed.

She sat up. “Wh-what are you doing?”

He slid to his knees on the hardwood floor and nudged her thighs apart with his hands. She was glistening, wet for him, her sex pouty and swollen. Glancing over his shoulder, he noted that the vanity mirror caught her reflection.

Her lips parted as their eyes met.

The position fulfilled him in a way he couldn’t explain. She was sitting up, legs spread, her sweet little pussy exposed for them both to see. He pictured her watching him kiss her there and groaned out loud.

He’d never been so aroused in his life.

Bending his head, he placed his open mouth against her quivering inner thigh. When she moaned, begging for more, he tasted her slit, slipping his tongue inside. She fisted her hands in the comforter, gasping.

He stopped teasing and settled his mouth on her clitoris, sucking gently. When she began to tremble, he backed off, because he wanted to make it last. Looking in the mirror again, he saw that her head was thrown back, her nipples jutting forth. He slid two fingers inside her, working them in and out. She was so hot.

“Please.”

He glanced up at her face. “Please what?”

“Lick me.”

Holding her gaze, he lowered his head again, flicking his tongue over her clit. She cried out, threading her fingers through his hair and pressing herself harder against his mouth. He gave her what she wanted, in bold strokes. Her moisture slicked his fingers. He felt her shivering tension, her exquisite tightness.