Soul Rest: A Knights of the Board Room Novel (26 page)

Bronski blinked. “It’s just a graze,” Leland said calmly. “But it will ruin her whole month and she’ll be calling me every time I get off shift to make sure I’m home safe. If you put me through that kind of aggravation, I will dedicate my life to making yours utter hell. Are we clear? Besides which, it could be a scrape from the concrete when we went down. Or she did it.” He looked at Celeste. “She tried to claw me to ribbons so she could chase the damn car like a rabid pit bull. We could charge her with assault on an officer, but I don’t want to do that after the kind of day she’s had. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Celeste’s mouth closed like a trap, her gaze narrowing to slits. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Bronski had to suppress a chuckle, covering it with a cough. “Yes, Sarge.”

“Good.” Leland looked at her. “You’re not okay to drive. Bronski will take you home—”

Celeste latched both hands on him. “No,” she said.

She wasn’t sure what she was refusing. She knew she needed to go home and take a shower, put some antibiotic ointment on her leg. But he’d almost been shot, and Jai had died. Died in Leland’s arms.

She could tell that hurt. Hurt deeply. They really didn’t know each other that well yet, so she wasn’t sure what he’d need in this kind of situation, but the image of him standing squarely in the sights of that assault weapon was pummeling her like a migraine.

“Don’t make me leave,” she said, low. “I want to be where I can see you. It was too close, Leland. Way…too close.”

I just found you.
Thank God she didn’t say that aloud.

His jaw eased. “Yeah. Same goes, darlin’.”

She stepped closer. Despite the speculative looks she was sure he’d get from the cops on scene, he didn’t move away when she rested a hand on his chest. “What did Jai say to you?”

§

If she wanted to crack him open right here, she’d chosen the right thing to ask, but when Leland met her gaze, it was as if it was just the two of them. When an officer had to shoot someone, tunnel vision could set in immediately after. They were trained to immediately sweep their front, back and sides to keep that from happening, so no one could sneak up on them. She came right up in front of him, and she still took him by surprise. He closed his hand over hers, too rough because she winced, but he couldn’t make himself release her, not immediately. But he did ease his grip.

“He looked at you, and said what he said that night. ‘Pretty girl. Girls are good. They make you happy.’ Then he looked at me and said, ‘You tell my girls they made me happy.’” Leland cleared his throat. “I told him that he’d tell them that himself, but he said, ‘A man knows. When he's not afraid, he knows.’”

“If I hadn’t chased them, I wouldn’t have given them an excuse—”

“Don’t,” he said shortly. “This is all on them. Thanks to you we have the plate and an ID on one of the shooters.”

Her gaze dropped to his hand, gripping hers. Neither of them were letting go, and she could feel his eyes locked on her face. He raised his voice. “Bronski?”

“Yeah, Sarge?”

“I’m going to take Miss Lewis home. Can you escort our other witness to her home, make sure she has someone there with her before you leave? She said she has a sister in the same apartment building.”

“Sure thing, Sarge.”

When Leland escorted Celeste out of the store and onto the sidewalk, moving her toward his car, Celeste had a brief glimpse of the alley. Her shattered tablet had been thrown violently to the cracked sidewalk when Leland had shoved her down beneath him, and then one or both of them had stepped on it when they’d scrambled out of the alley. Thank God she’d backed it up this morning.

A couple crime techs were pulling bullets out of the side of the store. She saw at least four or five holes, and though her perspective could be skewed, when she pictured herself there, she knew they would have punched through her chest. Dogboy might be a psycho, but he had good aim.

He hadn’t gotten her, though. Every muscle hurt like she had the flu, and she had a bad scrape on her leg, her slacks torn where Leland had tackled her and taken her to the pavement. But if he hadn’t, she’d be headed the same direction as Jai was now. In a black bag to the morgue.

She was shaking again. Leland pulled a coat out of his car and wrapped it around her, guiding her hands into the roomy sleeves and bundling her into it like a cocoon.

“I’m fine,” she said distantly, though she couldn’t tear her eyes from that wall or pull away from him. “I’m good. I’m all right.”

She was better than all right. She’d been fucking heroic. He shouldn’t be surprised that she’d responded to getting shot at the way most cops did. She’d been full-blown pissed and ready to go after the asshole with her bare hands. Leland kept a watchful eye on her as he navigated through traffic.

He’d had to deal with the Shooting Review Team and IA on-site since he’d fired his weapon, but he’d tried to keep an eye on her as much as possible during that time as well. Hell, after what had happened, he really didn’t want her out of his sight for the next decade. While she was waiting, Bronski had escorted her to the bathroom Jai had in the back. When she returned, she’d cleaned herself up some, more to steady herself than for vanity’s sake, he was sure. She was still pale, but her gaze was steady and sharp. Yet when they’d walked out to the car she’d lost that focus again, her gaze going to the alley. He’d put a firm hand on her lower back, ushered her into the car.

He’d been glad they’d taken Jai away when she was in the bathroom. Watching a person you knew get zipped into a body bag was a wrenching feeling he wanted to spare her. The coroner would notify the family, but Leland would find out when the funeral was so he could pay his condolences. Celeste would probably want to go as well.

He didn’t expect Jai’s family would know either of them as anything more than one story among the many that Jai brought home to them. Yet hearing from people who thought well of the victim usually helped the family. Jai had been one of the good influences in a tough community, which meant today that community was a notch bleaker. It filled him with anger, made him wish his bullet had shattered the back window and blown out the back of Dogboy’s head. Which wasn’t a good thought to be having, he knew that, but it didn’t make it less true. Or any more useful than his wish that they’d made that happen before the car turned the corner and headed down Jai’s street.

He reached out, put his hand over hers on the seat. She’d remained silent, an unusual state for her. Any other time, he would have teased her about that. But neither of them was in a teasing mood.

Her head tilted away from the window. In his peripheral vision he saw her looking down at their clasped hands. She moved her other hand to cover his. Then she lifted it with both hands, pressed her face into his palm. The gesture created an eye in the storm inside him, a still, potent place as she kissed his callused skin, her lashes feathering against his fingers. He felt the precise slope of her nose beneath them.

He’d just watched the life slide out of a man, as impossible to stop as a child who’d pushed off that no-going-back point on a tall waterslide. The child left nothing behind to hold except the last image of a laughing face. Whereas a man’s body did what it did as it succumbed to death, the blood no longer pumping out, the eyes getting that vacant look.

In the organized chaos that had happened after the drive-by, the shouting of orders, the status check to ensure no one had holes in them, he’d been pulling Manny to his feet. It had been pure chance, the fortunate angle of his body, which had allowed Leland to catch the quick movement across the street, Celeste disappearing down the alley. If he’d had his head down an extra second, he wouldn’t have known where to look for her. If he hadn’t pushed himself during every workout, telling himself the bad guys didn’t give any breaks for him being forty instead of twenty, or if he’d been born any shorter, with legs any less long, he might not have caught up to her. He’d shouted at her as he’d run down that alley, but she’d been flying on adrenaline, unable to hear him. The time between when he caught her about the waist and threw her down beneath him and when those bullets had pulverized the wall above them had been less than an indrawn breath. The impression of slim bones, quivering muscle and silken skin, the smell of her hair, was even briefer before he’d shoved himself up to get a shot off at the vehicle, but they’d imprinted themselves upon him like a brand.

He pulled into the driveway of her small rental house. It wasn’t in the best area of Baton Rouge by a long shot, but it was a friendly neighborhood, mostly working-class young families with kids, if the scattering of tiny bikes and toys left in a few yards were any indication. He used his opposite hand to turn off the vehicle, because she wouldn’t let go when he began to pull away. The press of her lips against the heel of his hand became more purposed. Her lips parted and he felt the moistness of her breath, the touch of her tongue on his life line before her lips closed there again. Her eyes had closed, but he could feel the tension thrumming through her as she dipped her head, nuzzled him. Moving to his wrist, she put her teeth there, bit, then rubbed her face there as well.

Sometimes if the late night sports didn’t have anything of interest, he’d switch to a documentary. Her behavior now reminded him of one he’d seen about lions. A pride whiling away the afternoon in tall golden grass, one of the lionesses cozied up to the male just like this. Showing her affection, marking him as her mate with the stroking of her face against him.

Reaction surged through him. Fury, need, and something too primal to voice. Her gaze lifted and met his, and he saw a mirror of his own feelings in those vivid hazel eyes.

“Stay there,” he said. He extricated his hand and exited the car, grabbing a fresh shirt out of the trunk before he circled around and opened her door. Her eyes were wide, her face still too pale. He took her hand, brought her out of the car. When they reached her porch, she gazed up at him, as if waiting for him to open her door. She wasn’t fully registering that they were at her place. She was still in a state of detachment, but what was humming off her skin wasn’t detached enough. It was as if she was in a different dimension with him right now, everything sharp and vibrant. He couldn’t stop thinking about her scent, the way she’d trembled beneath him. The glory of her rage at a guy carrying an assault rifle, as if her rage alone could incinerate him. His need was a fire in his blood that could match hers.

“Keys, darlin’.”

She blinked, focused enough to fish them out. He unlocked the door, swept his gaze over the interior. He was pretty certain of the answer, but asked to be sure. “Do you live alone?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He secured the door behind them, unbuttoned the bloodstained shirt and stripped it off his shoulders in a blink, leaving him in the dark-blue T-shirt beneath. She was staring at him. Clamping one hand on her upper arm and banding the other around her waist, he lifted and pinned her against the wall with his full weight, slamming his mouth onto hers.

If he’d had any doubts about the signals she’d been giving off, they were gone in that first second. Her legs and arms locked around him and a harsh moan ripped from her throat, her body shuddering.

It wasn’t about foreplay or seduction. Hell, he wasn’t sure it was even about sex. He kissed her hard and deep, tongue taking over her mouth, teeth scraping her. She clung to his shoulders, rocked against him. Too many clothes. He put her down, yanked open her slacks as she was toeing off the shoes. When they tried to shove the slacks and underwear down and off, they damn near bumped heads. He caught her by the throat, pinned her against the wall, gave her a hard look to make her stay there as he dropped to one knee and pulled the pants off either leg. Her fingers whispered over his back, his shirt collar, caught there and clung. He spread his fingers out against her thighs, the contrast of alabaster skin against his tan-brown skin, and made her cry out as he put his mouth between her legs. He forced them open wider with the grip of his hands and the insistence of his invasion, tongue-fucking her and finding her already slick, ready for him. He sucked on her clit and she damn near came from that, arching up against his mouth and almost walking up the wall with the writhing of her body.

Setting aside his belt with his weapon, he rose, opening his trousers. As he gripped his turgid cock, he coiled an arm around her waist and gave her the hitch to put her up against the wall again. Her hands slid up his chest, locked around his neck. Another rough, needy sound broke from her throat as he pinned her once again, this time by thrusting his cock as deep into her cunt as he could manage.

She let out a gasp, her eyes widening at his size, filling and stretching her. Yeah, it was one of the weird ironies of life that fear could make a man’s cock shrivel up and hide, but surviving a brush with death turned it into a pile driver.

He needed to take it easy, but the bite of her nails, the parting of her lips, said otherwise. He kept ramming into her, a steady tattoo of impact against the wall as their two bodies strained to get close and even closer. She hiked herself up further, arms wrapped fully around his shoulders, her back rounded so he felt the vulnerable ridge of her spine under her shirt as she laid her face against the side of his, breath rasping in his ear. For his part, he had one hand gripping her ass so hard he’d leave bruises, the other remaining banded around her waist as he kept bringing her down on him.

“Don’t mean…to hurt you…” he said, the apology the best he could do.

She shook her head and gripped him tighter inside and out, cunt muscles squeezing down on him. “I want it to hurt. Please…”

He shifted his hand from her ass up to cradle the back of her head, first to protect it from him hammering her against the wall and next to dig his fingers into her hair, pull her head back and set his teeth to her throat. She emitted a feminine growl, a spirited surrender. He felt her body start to gather itself, knew she was trying to keep herself off the edge, waiting for him. He was more than ready.

“Go over now,” he demanded. “Let me hear you.”

She did both, a beautiful symphony from her arched throat, her pussy convulsing on him and pushing him over the same edge. He came harder and longer than he expected, but he couldn’t stop. Not with her. Not until every drop was spilled inside her.

When they finally coasted in for a bumpy landing, he was aware of the bite of her nails through his shirt, how tightly he was holding her head and waist. He hadn’t removed his shirt or hers, yet they were still melded together from groin to chest, and he wasn’t sure her arms could be removed from around him without a crowbar. He didn’t mind. He didn’t want to let go of her either. He braced his forehead against the wall next to hers and inhaled her hair. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of doing that. She streaked the chestnut brown with some kind of blondish highlights and the scent of the thick strands was fragrant and elusive. Delicate but memorable and enduring, like the woman herself.

She was still breathing erratically, but she brushed her lips against his ear. “What do you have to say, Sergeant?”

“Girls are pretty. Girls are good.”

She snuffled against him, part chuckle, part sob. He cradled her face, holding them temple to cheek as they drew a different kind of strength from one another. “Damn it,” she said. “Life is just too hard sometimes. Poor Jai. His family. That stupid, awful, fucked-up kid. Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

“Yeah.” He was so steeped in her, his phone rang twice before he identified the muffled sound from his belt. “Hell, I didn’t log out. Let me get that.”

“It would have taken longer to log out than to do what we just did,” she said dryly. “You do get coffee or smoke breaks, right?”

“Smart-ass.” He gave her a pinch, but eased her down, made sure she was steady before he fastened his pants, zipped up and fished out the phone. “Keller.”

He scooped up her slacks and panties and offered them to her. Trying to be a gentleman to make up for the beast he’d been, though his beauty didn’t seem dissatisfied. Celeste gathered them to her with a faint smile, then hooked her thumb in the general vicinity of what he assumed was her bedroom and plucked at her shirt, stained from Marigold’s bloody hands clutching at her. He nodded and she disappeared that way.

“Keller, you there? I said, it’s Detective Allen.”

“Yeah, Toby, sorry. What’s up?”

“Are you still with Miss Lewis?”

“We just got to her house.” Leland donned the fresh shirt and tucked it in, then picked up his belt, buckled it back in place as he held the phone under his ear.

“Good. Just wanted to give you a heads up. We’ve still got some work to do, but the bullet track on your side of the street at the drive-by was high. At first we figured whoever was shooting just had lousy aim. But what didn’t make sense to me was them shooting out of both windows of the car. The opposite side of the street is mixed use, a few stores with apartments over them. No cops were over there, no one from the Reigning Kings or MoneyBoyz was hanging out. No reason to shoot in that direction at all. Then we noticed the shots on that side only hit where Miss Lewis was sitting. They dogged her escape path like a coonhound.”

Leland’s gut went cold. “If I hadn’t seen that,” Allen continued, “I would have assumed shooting at the two of you at the convenience store was incidental, but looking at what I’ve got so far, I think the initial shots at our crime scene were to pin us down. The shots at her—”

“She was their target. Son of a bitch. One of the shooters, she was in his face recently about the killing of that prostitute on Compton Court. Had her suspicions he was the doer.”

“It’s looking like he didn’t just do DeeDee. I work with Marquez, who’s running the Stiles case as well. She apparently made a connection to the same guy for that. He’s done some follow-up, and Earl Edward James has gone from a person of interest to our main suspect as of this afternoon. Maybe he didn’t realize she’d already shared that information with us.”

“I don’t think that matters to him.” Since his talk with Mike, Leland had pulled up Dogboy’s rap sheet and talked to a few others on his shift who had dealt with the teenager. “My guys say he’s probably a loose cannon with a looser screw. If he killed both of the women, he’s no Ted Bundy. Just a dumb, fucked-up kid who’s gotten himself hooked on killing and can’t stop himself. The question is, will the MoneyBoyz help him out with Celeste?”

“Hard to say. You know none of these groups are all that organized yet.”