Dangerous (3 page)

“You missed Justus by minutes,” he tells her.

Her gaze is locked with his. She looks stunned. And wary. She seems confused, about to leave, but he can't let her go.

“Wait. Let me buy you a drink. You can tell me stories I can use to blackmail my brother.”

Anything to keep her from walking out of his life before he gets a chance to know her.

He hadn't known it was possible. That an old attraction could be instantly relit as fast and hot as the first time. One look into her green eyes filled with suspicion had kick-started his memory. He hadn't forgotten a single thing about the time they'd spent together. Those memories had been what had gotten him through the worst time in his life.

Not that she knew it. He'd made sure of that.

He indicated the door. “Let's go.”

“Where?”

Without answering, he just left, knowing she would follow. Which she did with a quick good-bye to his brother. His pulse quickened as she caught up to him. Camille could be both frustrating and amazing, and he'd been the one to drop the ball, so to speak. Would she give him another chance? If she did, that didn't mean he should take it. Nothing had really changed. He was still who he was. And so was she.

Even knowing that, he couldn't stop from wanting her…even if it was only for now.

Once in the confines of the elevator, he let his gaze wash over the woman who could invade any man's dreams. Although he could see the anxiety and tension all over her face—her brows were pinched, her mouth set tight. Guilt-ridden. Who could blame her? He would have wanted this case even if Camille hadn't been the client. It exemplified the reason he'd chosen to take Justus's offer for a job when he'd been released from jail.

He didn't want to see another young girl beaten and bloody. Or worse. Knowing the circumstances, he couldn't help but believe Camille's lieutenant had been correct in putting her on leave. After being taken off the case, she'd continued to work it in secret. Worse, she'd been careless, leaving her computer on without a password, an open invitation to a young teen who had access to her house and had her computer privileges taken away at home. If the girl died because of this, the case would haunt Camille for the rest of her life. He knew something about being haunted by the past, so he had to make certain they retrieved the girl in one piece.

Once outside, he led her straight to his black '95 Firebird Trans Am convertible. He couldn't get enough of looking at her as he opened the door. She raised her eyebrows but didn't say a word, simply slid into the passenger seat. He longed to reach over and buckle her up, longed to touch her again. She clicked the seat belt in place. He wanted to undo the clip holding her fiery red hair back from a too pale face, watching it tumble down around her. He longed to see those bow-shaped lips turn up into a familiar grin. He longed to feel the heat of her eyes on him again.

To feel her surrounding him.

Which proved just how stupid he could be.

He'd barely gotten into the driver's seat when she asked, “Are you gaming me?”

“What makes you think that?”

“You still didn't tell me where we're going.”

“Your place.” He started the engine and drove off.

“To do what? My computer was confiscated by the department last night. It's now part of the electronic chain of evidence.”

He already knew that.

His intention was to get her someplace private. They needed a base of operations, and Humboldt Park, where he grew up and still lived, was filled with problems that she would find troublesome, to say the least. His mom had remarried and moved out of state, so he probably should have moved to a different neighborhood after he'd served his time.

As a kid living in a mostly Hispanic community, he'd always felt like the odd one out. Not quite Anglo like his father, not quite Hispanic like his half–Puerto Rican mother. Seven years older than he, Justus hadn't suffered the same anxieties. His brother had gone to a Catholic school until their father died and their mother was strapped for cash. Drago hadn't even gotten to know his fellow first-graders before they were both transferred to the local public school with all its problems, mostly gang related. Justus had enough time at that private school that he'd envisioned a different life for himself, so he'd found ways of skirting local gang politics.

Drago hadn't had the same experience. He'd been pulled into the culture, had to fight his way out of being forced into the local gang. Eventually, he saw himself as an equalizer. There were moments when he was all that stood between the local predators and the victimized honest people he'd known all his life. He hadn't been able to abandon them.

He'd made a few turns heading for Camille's place before she asked, “So what did Justus tell you?”

“He didn't give me details. Just that you got yourself behind the cue ball trying to nail a predator.”

Something he would still like to do himself to the Humboldt Lords gang leader, Tomas Huerta, if it wouldn't mean serving more jail time. Talk about the irony of the justice system.

When she didn't respond, merely stared out the passenger side window, he said, “So tell me what you know.”

“He calls himself Angel.” Her voice was flat. “As far as we're aware, he's seduced two young women on the Internet. I was able to put it together by talking to their friends, who told me they met some interesting guy named Angel online. They made dates to meet him and then just disappeared. He kept the first one for eight days, the second for ten. Eventually he got tired of playing with them, and then we found their bodies.”

“Found them how?”

“Public places. The weird thing is they were dressed in clothes their friends said they would never wear. And apparently he'd done their hair and makeup, too.”

“Why do you think he did it?”

“Because of the way they looked. Weirdly alike. Curly hair. A ton of eye makeup and fake lashes. Red lips and fingernails. Breasts practically hanging out of low-cut tops. Totally out of character for them both.”

He asked, “Were they both teenagers, too?”

“Not at all. Susan Halloran was twenty-two. Leanne Grant, twenty-four.”

“So why would he go after a fourteen-year-old?”

“He didn't. He was after me. Rather, he was after Morrigan, as I called myself online. I used a photo from several years ago, so that I would appear to be the correct age. He didn't know a kid would show up.”

“And yet he lured her away with him anyhow.”

“I thought about it all night. I can't figure it out. Angel has a type. Early twenties. Red hair. Sandy's not it.”

“He was probably pissed off that she fooled him and decided to teach her a lesson.”

Camille made a choking sound.

“Which might actually be in Sandy's favor.” He could hope.

“Tell that to her mother. Not that she would want to hear anything from me. Not that I even know her.”

“How do you not know your neighbors?” Drago asked.

“It's a big city.”

“I know my neighbors.” Maybe too well. Then, again, it gave him a sense of extended family.

“I knew mine in the suburbs, but this is different. People around my place know each other if their kids go to school together, or if they attend the same church. There are no coffee klatches on my block.”

Drago got the feeling that was perfectly fine with Camille. He remembered Justus saying she hadn't bothered to look him up since he'd left the department. Did she have something against long-term relationships?

He circled back to the issue. “Well, Sandy's mother must be beside herself.”

“And I wish I could do something about it. When I spoke to her last night, Gloria Kawecki was devastated. And rightly blames me.”

“Not any more than you blame yourself.”

“No.”

“Which won't get Sandy back.” He tightened his hold on the steering wheel. Even though he had to admit Camille was careless leaving her computer unprotected, it wouldn't help things to chastise her. They had to keep positive, steady, thoughts clear. “You have to pull yourself out of whatever this is you're in. You have to be on point every minute, because the clock is ticking.”

“You think I don't know that?”

He felt her gaze sear him with a passion that had nothing to do with him. At this moment, on administrative leave or not, she was a cop. He recognized the intent. She was just like his brother had been. Was now. Justus might have gone his own way, but he was still a cop at heart.

She seemed almost startled when he slowed in front of her bungalow. He could lie and say Justus had given him the address. He could tell her the truth. Or he could just let her guess.

Choosing the last, he asked, “Garage?” Not surprisingly, there was no visible parking on the street within half a block of her place, and her car was still parked in front of the agency.

“Around the corner, through the alley. I'm surprised you didn't head straight there.”

“I remember how much you like to be asked.”

She flushed and turned her head away, making him smile.

He remembered everything about her. The sex between them had gone from mindless on Friday night to hyperaware by Saturday morning. He'd asked and she'd answered. And by Sunday night, she'd had some tricks of her own to keep him glued to that hotel room.

He remembered her having a way about her that he hadn't been able to resist.

On top of him, she curbs the speed and depth of their joining to make it last. Her gaze locks with his, and he loses himself in the green depths for a moment. She has him. He is hers. His heart is thundering. His body is building to an explosion of mind-bending proportions. But she's still in control.

Not for long, he decides. She's going to come with him. He'll make sure of it.

He slips a hand between her thighs and finds her sweet spot…

He was hard just thinking about it.

When they'd left that hotel room, he'd known he didn't want to forget one single moment with her despite what she did for a living. Greedily, he'd wanted more. And had wanted more than sex, too. Their connection had been immediate and powerful, and he'd left thinking they were meant to be together.

Life had simply intervened in the worst possible way, and he'd spent the next six months in jail instead of with her.

Camille was fumbling in the bag she carried, pulled out her key ring and used the electronic garage door opener. After he drove in and parked, he got out of the driver's seat, reaching in the backseat for his beat-up leather case. A moment later, they climbed two steps to the deck that wrapped around the rear of the house and stood at her back door.

Though she had keys in hand, her expression was frozen as she looked into her neighbor's yard.

“What?” Drago asked.

Camille shook her head. “Nothing. I thought I saw Gloria at the back window.”

“The kid's mother?”

“Right.”

Distracted for a moment by a barking dog, Drago said, “Maybe we should talk to Mrs. Kawecki.”

“Maybe we should try, though I don't know what good it would do even if I could talk to her. Rodriguez might consider that another violation.” She sucked in air as if she was suddenly having trouble breathing. The barking dog got her attention for a moment before she said, “As far as I could tell, Sandy is a nice kid, never in trouble. Not that I know her that well. I don't know any of my neighbors personally. I really don't have the time since I work homicide.”

“If you don't know them, how did you get Sandy to walk your dog?”

“I only got the dog about a month ago. I didn't have time for him, either, but I found him running the streets, so what was I going to do? I figured I'd find his owner, but no one responded to my posters, and I wasn't about to turn him in to animal control. So I hired Sandy to walk Max the days I worked. She seemed to be responsible enough when I hired her.”

Turning back to the door, Camille jangled her keys. “I need to go inside first.” As they heard more barking she added, “Max can be a little aggressive.”

“Dogs like me.”

“He isn't fond of men.”

“That must be inconvenient.”

She rolled her eyes before unlocking the back door. A sharp bark followed by a growl greeted them.

“Told you.”

Stepping inside the kitchen, she half closed the door behind her as she grabbed the dog's collar. He was a big, mottled black and brown beast of undetermined origin. Looked like a street dog. Sounded like one, too, as he pitched himself toward Drago. But as she murmured sweet nothings to the beast and surrounded him with her affection—
something Drago could only envy—the dog calmed down and whistled through his nose.

“Good boy.” Still holding on to his collar, Camille opened the door. “You're free to do what you want now.”