Wicked Bad Boys (8 page)

I
know
I’ll get more from Robert if I meet him outside of the precinct. I send him a text message, telling him to meet me for a walk at our spot if he is free in half an hour. He replies right away, saying he’ll be there. I grab my bag and leave for the Bow Bridge in Central Park.

I get there five minutes early because I know Robert. He’s already there. I walk up and stand beside him. We may have a past, but this is serious. This is business, and from where I’m sitting, my job is on the line.

“What do you have on Jonathan Sloan?” There’s no time for pleasantries.

“I guess I don’t need to say good morning to you, since we’ve already seen each other today, right?”

“Cut the crap, Rob. I didn’t come here to talk about us.”

“What were you doing with that guy?”

“Fine. If you want me to ask someone else in the precinct, I’ll do that. Bye Rob.”

I turn to start walking away, and he stops me by holding my arm.

“Okay, I get it. All right. What do you need to know?”

“Everything you know about this case. Off the record.”

“Becky, come on. You know I can’t do that.”

“You just asked me to stay, didn’t you? Now tell me what I need to know, or I’ll get it from someone else.”

I have no time to play nice anymore. If this case is moving at the pace it already is, and with the media acting up, I suspect there will be charges before this week is out. I need to know everything, and yes, I may be bluffing about being able to find the information from another source, but so far, Rob is buying it. Talking to him is the only way to level the playing field with the police, and possibly the District Attorney’s Office.

He takes a breath. “Okay this is everything I know. This girl, Doreen Rushton, died in the garage of one of the most prestigious buildings in Manhattan. That was early Sunday morning. At the time we investigated, we had no idea who she belonged to, pardon my choice of words. It’s a large building, and she did not live there. We had no intel on who she visited in the building.

“We cordoned off the place. A slew of officers were gathering evidence and talking to the residents, the concierge and even the valet to find out if anyone knew or saw anything. We got nothing. No witnesses, no camera footage, no leads. There’s nothing, except for footage of the woman stepping on the elevator, and her bloody print on the button to the parking level…and of course, her body, which was found on that same elevator.

“By the end of day Sunday, all we know is we have to rely on whatever evidence is on her person. That’s the trail we have to follow to get back to whoever worked her over so badly before she got away. Whatever they did to her, that’s what killed her. We’re sure of it.

“We put a rush on the evidence analysis. That was two nights ago. Monday rolls around, and an anonymous call comes in on the tip line. The person says, and I quote you verbatim, ‘Doreen Rushton was murdered by that Sloan kid. Jonathan Sloan.’ That’s all we had, and that’s still all we have.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

I can’t believe what he’s telling me. The NYPD does not follow every anonymous tip—no matter who it is that was killed, or who the caller mentions did the killing. It still stinks.

“I swear that’s all I know. My instructions were to follow every lead no matter how ludicrous or unsubstantiated.”

“How many of you are on this case, if you don’t mind me asking? If you’re following every lead, they’ll need twenty of you to weed through the minutia and find the real killer.”

“You’re right on both counts. Believe it or not, this is the highest priority case in my precinct.”

“What a surprise.”

“Off the record, there are more officers on this case than I’ve ever seen committed to a single murder investigation.”

“Is it because of Senator Rushton?”

“That’s my guess. There’s one thing I’ll tell you, Becky. I haven’t passed it on to my superiors yet, but finding you with Jonathan Sloan was probably more damning for him than that anonymous tip.”

“Why is that?”

“You know why. You know where you work. Your firm’s reputation precedes you. The only thing that would have been worse than finding you and Jonathan Sloan is finding Kara Henry with Jonathan Sloan.”

I looked at the time on my phone. I refuse to acknowledge that remark. “Is there anything else?”

“That is it.”

“Will you give me a heads up on what the evidence turns up?”

“You know I can’t do that. Not if he’s your client. If he’s charged, you’ll get your hot little hands on all the evidence during discovery. By then you can deal with whoever will be assigned as Prosecutor from the DA’s office.”

“I guess that’s it, then. Thanks for the help, I think. See you around, Rob.”

“Hold on, Becky.” He reaches for my hand again. “Can we at least talk about it? I never wanted things to end that w—”

I cut him off before he can continue. I refuse to talk about the distant past, even if it only was eighteen months ago. “Rob, whatever happened, I’ve let it go. You need to let it go too.”

“We could have had something special, you know?”

“I left that in the past. I’ve forgiven you. Take care.”

He releases my arm, but gently rests a hand on my shoulder. “Promise me you’ll be careful. I don’t want to see anything happen to you around those people. I don’t have anything tangible, but you hear things. Watch yourself.”

“I will. Thanks.”

I have what I need to know when I leave him standing on the bridge, positive that his sad, loving, regretful eyes follow me all the way until I’m out of his sight. It takes a lot of strength for me to keep walking.

I spend the rest of the day digging up everything we have in our files on the Sloans. After that, I research what’s up on the Internet and in our legal databases and public records. I pack it in after five. I head home, and go for another run with Sarah. I remember to eat after my shower. Yesterday was enough of a lesson, but now, I have a good idea why Jonathan just buzzed me from the front door of my building, and is waiting downstairs.

“
H
ello
,” she answers over the intercom after I wait about a minute.

“Rebecca. It’s me, Jonathan. Can you let me up?”

I hear her let out a breath before she buzzes me in. I take the stairs up to her place. She gives me a stern look when she opens the door, but stands aside and lets me in without a word. She instructs me to sit down, completely aware of why I’m here. I don’t say a word. I sit and wait to let her talk. I need to find out what she knows.

“What did you find out?” I get right to the point when Rebecca sits and says nothing. I’m not in the mood for small talk. I just want the facts. To be honest, that’s why I think I came here, but the longer I look at her, I’m not so sure anymore that it’s the only reason.

She looks better than she did yesterday after her little slip and fall in the bathtub. There’s color in her cheeks, and she looks strong; healthy. My head is telling me stick to business with this woman. If she is the one Kara put on this case, I need her focused. She can’t afford to be distracted with any personal shit, not even with me. Scratch that, especially not with me.

My dick however, is handing out a completely different set of instructions. It has more to do with wrapping my arms around her, spreading those sexy, long legs, getting inside her, and fucking her until she screams. I need to put that thing in check. I give it a silent lecture to shut it down. I hope to God it listens while I’m here sitting opposite Rebecca’s fine, sexy ass.

She relates everything she found out so far. I can’t believe the police would come to my door on a fishing expedition after only an anonymous tip, however if that’s all it is, I’m not as worried anymore. Yes, I’m slightly concerned about who that anonymous caller was. It could be anyone—anyone with a grudge for the Sloans. That list is pretty darn long.

She tells me she has questions for me. Questions about the last time I was in trouble like this. Questions about that dropped second degree murder charge. I asked her what that has to do with anything. The charges were dropped. What else does she need to know? She tells me it has everything to do with the direction this case may take if charges are filed. I’m already angry. I’m not ready to rehash the details or prove my innocence over and over again.

“There’s a case file, Rebecca. Kara’s got a thick one somewhere in her office. I suggest you get familiar with it. I’ve been through enough.”

“There’s no need to get defensive,” she replies.

“I’m not.”

“You sure look like you are.”

If she’s trying to get me even more upset, it’s working. I get up and I start walking towards the front door. I didn’t come up here for that shit.

“Jonathan, wait.” She follows me and reaches her hand to my forearm.

I turned to look at her. All that chemistry is sparking around the room and through her fingers, back into me. She pulls her hand away and takes a step back. I’m certain she’s feeling it too, but she probably knows better than to mess with a man under suspicion of a brand spanking new murder, as well as a prior charge. I don’t make a move. I wait for her to speak.

“Please,” she says. “I apologize. I’ll go over the case file again.”

“Thanks. If there isn’t anything else, I’d best be going. Let me know if anything comes up, will you?”

“Yes. I will.”

“I’ll call you if anyone else reaches out to me to inquire about this. Thanks for seeing me on your personal time.”

I turn and leave. It is a smart move, probably the best thing I’ve done in the last seven days. She has her work cut out for her if there’s anything on the Rushton girl that ends up linking back to me. That anonymous call wasn’t even circumstantial evidence. If there’s anything of mine placed on that body, then I’m fucked. By now, I wouldn’t put it past my father or anyone in his camp to do exactly that, now that I’ve agreed to be the sacrificial lamb.

I get outside to my car and I’m about to unlock it when Rebecca charges out the front door of her building. She doesn’t even have shoes on. I’m wondering what she has to say to me out here on the street that she hasn’t already told me inside.

“Jonathan,” she starts. “I just want to tell you thanks for last night. I appreciate how you handled…my incident…and that you stayed with me to make sure I was okay. More importantly, I trust that we can keep what happened just between us?”

“It’s not a problem. If you’re asking me to forget it ever happened, you have my word. I won’t tell a soul.”

“Thank you.”

I open the driver side door and begin to step in when she calls out to me again. I look up.

“I was going to ask if I can take you to dinner, as a way of thanking you for helping me yesterday.”

I’m itching to accept, but I manage to keep my dick at bay. Rebecca is potentially my legal lifeline to getting through this without a prison term. I can’t take the chance. “I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea anymore, Rebecca.”

“Oh,” she says, looking away, seeming dejected. “You know what? You’re probably right. Have a good night, Jonathan. I’ll be in touch.”

She turns around and gets back to her front door. I watch as she unlocks it. It occurs to me I have spent my entire life following my head, and look where it’s gotten me. I was the rational one when my father committed his first act. I took care of the mess, and all of the others ever since, right up till before Doreen Rushton. I was using my head when I pulled Stephen Harrigan off that transvestite that night too. I was also thinking straight when I told my dad I would take the fall for him. So maybe it’s time to give my dick a break.

“Hey,” I call out to her. She looks back at me, and I walk over to her. “Sure. Dinner. Let’s do it. This way, I know you’re getting enough energy to handle my case if it gets serious. Want to catch some now?”

The tension in her face seems to ease, and she nods. “I’ll need to change. Do you want to wait upstairs or down here?”

“Upstairs.”

I follow her up those flights of stairs and I don’t regret a moment of it. I get the best view of her ass and legs in those yoga pants, and if my dick had hands it would be high-fiving me all the way up to her apartment. It’s throbbing with joy in my pants. I sit in her living room, waiting for her to get dressed. I think back about last night. She made the first move when I came out of the bathroom, coming to think about it. She just asked me out to dinner. Maybe she has a thing for bad boys. I figure I’ll take a chance.

I get up, stroll past her bathroom and walked right up to her bedroom door. The door is ajar. It’s wide enough for me to look inside. She’s standing in her bra and panties, looking sexy as sin. I let out a low groan. I don’t know where it came from, but she hears it and turns to look at me. She does not cover herself or ask me to get out. She stands there. She doesn’t move. Before I know it, I’m right in front of her, with my hands sliding around her waist.

She has an intense look in her eyes as she stares up at me. I’m all in. I lean in, and that electricity sparks through my body when I kiss her gently.

Her body relaxes into me. A soft moan betrays her when it escapes her throat. I take my time. It’s early, and I doubt we’ll end up doing dinner after this. Takeout—that’s probably what we’ll have. In the meantime, I enjoy the moment. I taste her lips, parting them with my tongue to get closer. She tastes sweet. I pull her into me, and can’t help the groan that echoes in my throat.

God, this woman has me feeling things. It’s more than what I care to admit. She’s beautiful, so willing; just so—amazing. I deepen into our kiss. She sways into me. Her body is pressed up against me, and the heat in my chest and stomach ramps up. I feel our escape from this world to the next. We’re lost together, bodies pressing closer, tongues exploring.

Her hands reach up around my neck. I pull her in closer from the waist. I feel her hardened nipples pressing onto my chest. My cock is so hard against her stomach, dying to spread her legs open and take her right this second. She’s getting playful now. Her hips are rocking into mine, and she’s pulled from the kiss to nip at my bottom lip. I wonder if she knows she’s playing with fire when she does that. I’m about to lose my mind any minute now.