Shattered Glass (13 page)

make an appearance, we could move toward that goal.” The FBI? He wanted to get involved federally? Something was wrong. Really wrong. Luis had figured it out, I could tell just by his bland expression. I wished the epiphany would migrate my way.

“It’s a cop,” Luis explained, eyes directed at Alvarado.

“Whoever he’s turning over. A cop or bigger. But he won’t give us the name, or he’d have made the deal already. The whole point of this meeting was for us to reach that conclusion. Then we’d instigate an investigation, and the FBI would swoop in and take over.”

“Peter knows who it is?” I asked Alvarado. He rested penetrating brown eyes on me and said, “Man, who you think set me up with the guy?”

Fuck. I’m a complete and total moron.

Once I Got Over Him Being a Scumsucking Criminal We pulled into the diner’s lot a half hour later, and Luis turned off the car. I grabbed his arm as he opened the door. “There’s just no chance of you letting me do this on my own?” I pleaded.

His answer wasn’t so much a laugh as it was a guffaw. He shook off my hand and continued laughing the entire walk into the restaurant. I hung my head for a minute, then followed.

The hostess—and I use the term loosely because she didn’t greet us so much as give us a once over and raise her brows—met us at the entrance. We held up our badges. She curled her lips and stuck out her chin. “What?” I wondered if hostility was a job requirement at the diner.

“We’re here for Peter,” I said and checked behind her for him.

“Peter? Who the fuck is Peter?”

Luis cocked a brow at me. “Yeah, who the fuck is Peter?” His amusement was not catching.

“Bunny slippers, bad attitude, boyfriend named Cai,” I snapped.

I checked hostess-girl’s nametag. Matilda. Really? Matilda?

“Rabbit. You mean Rabbit,” she giggled, causing her chin to wobble hypnotically. Resting a hand on her ample hip, she smirked at us both. I attempted a smile in return.

Just as she shifted toward the kitchen doors and screamed, “RABBIT! COPS’RE HERE FOR YOU!”, Peter walked out of the kitchen. For two seconds he stared at me. He blinked in

surprise and started a half smile. His eyes bounced to Luis. He squinted and his eyes blew wide. Taking a backward step, he swiveled and tore off into the back. I stared, dismayed, at the doors swinging back and forth. Then I twirled on my heel and booked it out the door to follow.

“Goddammit, stop, Pete— Rabbit!” I shouted as he hopped over the retaining wall behind the restaurant and sped across the main street. “Motherf— I just bought this suit!” And it’s too fucking hot to chase your ass in it. Fuck. There was no way that little shit could outrun me. I had been training for the FBI for ten years. And I was taller. Yeah, taller. I just decided that.

But that fucker wasn’t just fast. He managed an even pace ahead of me and then did an imitation of my slide across the hood of a car—only the car he chose was moving. I looped around it and followed him across the street, already breathing hard.

Once on open ground, I closed in on him, but then he sprang over a pair of guardrails, jammed his feet into the side of a parking garage and somehow monkey-climbed the freaking wall!

He then twisted his body, grabbed the edge of a windowless opening and pulled his legs up. He disappeared somewhere on the first level.

I stood there out of breath, four blocks from the restaurant and gaping up at the concrete hole he vanished into. That was how the asshole got those abs. Fucker trained in Parkour. Holy shit. I wanted him so badly.

Once I got over his being a scum-sucking criminal, that is.

“Yo, your boyfriend just whipped your ass.” Luis’s laughter carried through the car window as flung open the passenger

door.

“What the fuck’re you laughing about? We just lost him, and what the fuck was he running for?” I flopped into the seat and slammed the door as the car screeched out. Luis handed me a piece of paper.

“…Detroit Street…” I read the address, frowned, and then my lips did a slow curve upwards. “2A.”

We made it there before Rabbit—er, Peter,
asshole
, liar. I waited patiently at his door while Luis watched the back gate.

His home was packed into the middle unit of a set of rundown brick townhomes smack in the heart of the most urban neighborhoods of Denver. I knocked and rang the bell. No answer. I had little choice but to wait outside in the muggy summer sun. I stank of sweat, but at least there was a small garden next door to offset the rank. I inhaled and played with the cuffs hooked to my belt.

We now had grounds for arrest, since he had fled, and I relished throwing cuffs on him. I almost hoped he ran again so I could see him do that shit all over. Then jump him and hold his wrists down and ram my tongue—He ran. The moment he sprinted around the corner and saw me, he blinked wide, skidded and pivoted, hauling ass the opposite way. “Are you
kidding
me?” I shouted, giving chase. I was closer this time from the get-go, not to mention being newly familiar with his tactics. He made it exactly two blocks before my football tackle skills made themselves useful.

Perhaps not appropriate to mention to him that I played ‘tight

end’ (but I did). And I was sure there were all sorts of ‘wide receiver’ jokes that could have been pertinent, but I was too busy struggling with—fuck he was strong—Peter to think of them. Maybe later.

“Hold—” I growled.

“—off me, pig!”

“—still,” I grabbed his wrists. He twisted and bucked under me. I was sure he could feel my erection because he finally stilled and tried crawling away, instead of rubbing against my crotch by twisting some more.

Sadly, I couldn’t enjoy this position for long because I had to get him cuffed. Though, there were much better ways I could come up with to cuff him besides behind his back.
Later
, I told myself again. With somewhat of a lesser struggle, I managed to get his hands cuffed and then throw myself off him and sit on the grass.

Peter lay on his stomach, breathing as heavily as I, and then he kicked me twice in the hip before I moved out of range. I found myself staring at his jeans-clad ass and his sparsely-freckled back where the shirt had ridden up during our fight. It was so wrong to be this aroused by him.

“Alright, we’ll talk later about where I’m picking you up Saturday.” Peter rolled over and stared at me with comically large eyes. “Right now I have some other questions.” “What is
wrong
with you?” He glared at me.

“I’m somewhat sure I’m suddenly gay,” I shrugged, “My father and mother are hypocritical abandoning homophobic assholes. The former defending my chief suspect in the biggest case of my life—something I’m sure you had a hand in. I’m

obsessed with your freckles, your bunny slippers and your lips—which I should be getting points for not kissing while you’re incapacitated, by the way. I’m dating a whore while working on the vice squad—points to me again for not arresting your ass for that—and I’m ridiculously horny. Oh, and my fiancée won’t talk to me.”

He narrowed his eyes at me and bit his lip deliciously before pulling it through his teeth again and again. “I’m not a whore,” he said. “Not anymore.”

“Just a poet, and you don’t even know it?” I held up the handcuff keys, attempting to dazzle him with my smile. “If I take those off, are you going to run away? You know what, Rabbit
, never mind. You
lied
to me.” “Peter,” he said quietly. “My name is Peter.” I opened my mouth to respond but he interrupted. “I did what I had to do.” I leaned over and uncuffed him—because I was insane. My fingers stayed a little too long on his wrists. He pulled them in front of his chest and rubbed each one at a time.

“We’re not going to arrest you for lying. I mean we could, but we’d have to prove you were lying. Which is a stretch. Jesus, is that why you ran?”

Peter turned his head away from me and pushed off the ground. “Sure,” he lied. Again. I recognized the lie now that my rosy glasses weren’t so shiny. I was not seeing him as this ethereal, innocent boy any longer. I saw him for what I dealt with all the time. A hustler. Attractive street trash, but street trash nonetheless.

And you know what? It didn’t lessen my attraction to him one iota.

“So what do you want?” He tucked his hands in his pockets.

I sensed he was faking vulnerability.

“I came for that kiss.” I flashed all my teeth in a grin as I stood up. He stared at me with that withering glare. “You know why I’m here.”

He pulled his brows in and surveyed the park just west of us.

“Your nose is bleeding.”

“Fuck,” I said, leaning my head back and pinching the bridge.

“If I knew dating a whore would be this difficult, I’d have slept with you the first night.”

“Call me a whore one more time,” he warned.

“You’re sensitive about
that
? Do I need to define the word whore for you?” I couldn’t believe I was having this ridiculous conversation.

“I thought you’d refuse or leave me alone,” he spat. Literally he spat, at my feet. “You know, being a fucking cop and all.” He shook his head and huffed a laugh, biting his lip in that delicious way again.

Dear God, he’d broken my nose, charged me for sex, kicked me, made me look like an idiot, and all I wanted to do is bang the sense out of him with my dick. “I have no idea what to do with you, Peter.” I sighed, pushed my hand through my hair, and began searching my pockets for a handkerchief or tissue for my nose.

Peter’s fingers pressed under my chin, lifting it up. Using a bandana he pulled from nowhere, he dabbed away the blood under my nose. My heart beat like we were still on the run. “I don’t like you,” he muttered. “You’re a closet case, and you’re only interested in my ass.” He rubbed my bruised nose. I

whimpered. I was fairly sure he pressed harder than necessary.

“Sadist,” I groaned. I was so hard right now, I could probably come if he accidentally rubbed my knees. Not the best time, since I saw Luis pull the car up across the street.

“You’re too pretty,” he murmured. I’d have grinned if my nose wouldn’t protest.

“You want me,” I joked.

“Against my better judgment,” he admitted.

My fingers brushed against his stomach as I rested them on the ridge of his waistband. The shiver that I elicited thrilled me.

“Hi,” I said with a stupid grin and a wince of pain.

“So eager,” he said, wetting the bandana with his tongue and wiping at my nose again. I cringed, immediately regretting the gesture as pain shot into my forehead.

“I like you,” I said honestly. “Even though you’re probably a criminal and are going to get me thrown off the force. And you kicked me. Broke my nose. Made me gay and refused to kiss me.”

“You don’t even know me,” Peter reiterated, stuffing the bandana in my pocket, and contemplating me for a few seconds.

He stepped back and released my chin. “You need a name, I guess?” He popped a brow at me.

“Yeah,” I said, because that was the only coherent thought I had besides
unf unf unf
.

“I wish I could give you one. Even if I had it. Which I don’t. I just get calls for favors.” He shoved his hands into his pockets again, whipping the flop of hair out of his eyes. “Iss knows things. I can’t risk it.” The thought of him risking anything broke my heart a little. But it also made me more alert to my behavior.

I was definitely more suspicious of his mannerisms at least. “But I might know someone who has more to give on Iss.” “I need something from you. Something that justifies my not arresting you.”

He nodded once. “I’ll talk to my friend again. That’s the best I can do.”

“Okay. And, Peter? Don’t leave town,” I said. “Next time it won’t be me cuffing you. Joe’s not around to keep your record clean.” I was normally ruthless at my job. For a while Peter had clouded that instinct. Perhaps I’d see a bit more clearly now.

“Besides, for our date Saturday? I was thinking less cell block and more movie house.” I said brightly.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t say no. I took that as ‘Oh, you sexy devil, Austin, I want to do you right here, but I’m super-duper excited about our date so I’ll wait’.

I was paraphrasing, of course.

Luis chewed me out the entire ride back to the station and continued his tirade for an extra fifteen minutes in the car after we arrived. I convinced him that Peter was going to come through with a name for us. That, combined with reminders that my law enforcement career, at least up to this point, had been impeccable and my standing in the way of him taking another bullet, finally shut him up.

I grew up Catholic. I was not above guilt trips.

He dropped me off at my Jag in sullen silence and left without a word. I turned on my car, and with nowhere to go, no one special to see, I drove aimlessly through the city.

For the hundredth time since Saturday, I wondered what the fuck I was doing. Apparently what I was doing was getting off on being lectured because I called Dave.

Knowing that he had spoken with Angelica. Knowing that he would not talk about Jesse—maybe even had purposefully forgotten him, like me. I still called.