Dangerous to Touch (5 page)

When Sidney came home, Marc and Lacy settled in for a brain-numbing evening. Stakeouts were always tedious.

From their vantage point inside the hotel room they could see Sidney’s front doorstep and the south side of her house, complete with one bedroom window, blinds closed. The street she lived on was moderately busy, as was the enticing stretch of sand beyond.

After opening the windows to let in a hint of breeze, she walked out the back door in a demure black Speedo and bare feet.

“That’s the ugliest swimsuit I’ve ever seen,” Lacy said.

He grunted in agreement.

On the beach, Sidney didn’t sunbathe or stroll along the shore but swam straight out into the Pacific and started doing vigorous laps.

After thirty minutes she came out of the waves like a wet seal, sluicing water off her arms, black bathing suit clinging to her. The Speedo was a crime against nature. It flattened her breasts and covered everything from neck to upper thigh, thoroughly disguising her shape.

As she approached the house, they switched their attention to the video monitor, which gave a view of the side yard. She turned on the outdoor shower, her back to them, and he noticed the sleek muscles in her shoulders.

Especially when she peeled down the upper half of her suit.

The shower had block walls on both sides and a pair of shuttered wooden doors in front that parted, saloon-style. It was a perfectly modest setup, except that the angle of the camera allowed them to see down into it.

“You put the camera there on purpose,” Lacy accused.

“No,” he said, his throat dry. This scenario really hadn’t occurred to him. Videotaping a subject without their knowledge, in a place where they had the reasonable assurance of privacy, was illegal. Bathrooms, locker rooms and bedrooms were off-limits. An outdoor shower was kind of a gray area.

Until now.

“I wouldn’t have…” Whatever he was about to say was lost, because she pushed the swimsuit off her hips and turned around.

“Oh my God,” Lacy murmured. “Who would’ve thought she was hiding a body like that underneath those horrible clothes?”

Marc had to admit his wild speculations hadn’t done her justice.

Her rose-tipped breasts were lush and natural, a sight he could appreciate in this age of implants. Her belly was sleek and flat, her hips flared out sensually from a slim waist and her legs…they went on forever.

“We shouldn’t be watching this,” he said hoarsely. There was a protocol for surveillance, and ogling naked women in the shower didn’t follow it.

“Definitely not,” Lacy agreed, making no move to turn off the monitor.

Hugging her arms around herself, Sidney felt the hot press of tears against her eyelids as the cool shower spray pelted her back.

She couldn’t stop the barrage of images assaulting her senses. Anika Groene’s red-marked body. Candace Hegel’s sea-ravaged face.

Yesterday, Candace had been alive. Last night, she’d been fighting for her last breath.

Sidney should have done something.

She
could
have done something.

Shutting off the water, she grabbed the towel hanging on the shower wall and wrapped it around her dripping body. In the kitchen, Marley was waiting expectantly for her dinner, reminding Sidney that she hadn’t eaten, either.

While her cat munched on dry food, Sidney munched on cold cereal and milk at the kitchen countertop, staring mutely at the blank television screen. When the phone rang, she almost jumped out of her skin. Hands trembling, she picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Sidney? Is that you, dear?”

Who else would it be? “Yes, Mama.”

“Thank goodness. I’ve been trying to get through to you all afternoon.”

“Really?” Her message machine showed no calls. “I was at work.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

Her mother had a selective memory. She often “forgot” about the kennel, and any other detail of Sidney’s life she didn’t approve of.

“I was so worried,” she continued. “Samantha called yesterday.”

Sidney was torn between annoyance with her sister and annoyance with her mother. “It’s really not a problem,” she lied.

“Not a problem? I beg to differ! Contemplating divorce is the biggest problem a married woman can have.”

Sidney sank into a chair, kicking herself for thinking her mother had been worried about her, not Samantha, or that her egotistical older sister would have bothered to call home and talk about anyone besides herself.

“You’ve got to do something,” her mother was saying.

“Like what?”

“Talk her out of it.”

Sidney laughed softly, so she wouldn’t cry. “Samantha does what she pleases. She’ll get a divorce if she wants one, no matter what you or I say.”

Her mother was silent for a moment. “I just don’t understand you girls sometimes. In my day, a woman gave her husband some leeway.”

“He’s cheating on her,” she said shortly.

“Yes, well, men are more susceptible to sins of the flesh. A true lady is forgiving, not vindictive.”

Sidney smiled. Not only was her mother old-fashioned, but she had no idea what Samantha was capable of. “Not everybody has a marriage like you and Daddy,” she said. “He’s devoted to you.” Henpecked, too. “Greg is…not the same.”

Her mind drifted to an awful scene at Samantha and Greg’s wedding. Sidney had been a sweet nineteen, a reluctant bridesmaid in the frothy lavender dress her sister had forced her to wear. It pushed her breasts up to her chin and cinched in her waist, so it must have been partially to blame for Greg’s clumsy, roving hands when he found her alone in a dark hallway.

That was a secret she’d never told. Samantha was already pregnant and Sidney couldn’t bear to hurt her. By the time her sister’s second baby came along the point was moot. Samantha had already caught Greg cheating and blamed her postpartum body for his indiscretions.

In the years since, her savagely achieved perfection hadn’t kept him faithful.

“I’m really tired, Mama,” Sidney said, rubbing her aching forehead. “I think I’ll go to bed early. Tell Daddy I love him, ’kay?”

“Okay, dear. Take care of yourself.”

“You, too.”

Sidney pushed the button on the receiver, feeling tears flood her eyes. “You’re pathetic,” she told herself, brushing them off her cheeks. Before she realized her mother had been calling about Samantha, a ray of hope had spread through her chest, filling an empty part of her.

Now it was hollow once again.

She’d never been able to talk to her mother about her feelings, supernatural or otherwise. Aurelia Morrow had “spells,” too, ones that required days of bed rest and absolute quiet. Sidney’s “feelings” had always given Mama “spells.”

“Whatever,” she said dismally, trying to convince herself she didn’t care. So what if she didn’t have a best friend or close relative to confide in? So what if she didn’t have that special someone who understood her and believed in her and supported her?

In her experience, few people did. Her mother’s illness, real or imaginary, baffled her father. He’d been walking on pins and needles around her for the past twenty years. Greg and Samantha certainly weren’t soul mates.

So why did Sidney feel so cheated by circumstance?

This was all Marc Cruz’s fault, she decided, trudging upstairs to her room. He stirred up latent desires. Placing her cordless phone on the nightstand, she stretched out on the bed in her damp towel and buried her face in the pillows.

She gasped, feeling his touch.

Scrambling to a sitting position, she searched the dark room with wide eyes, clutching the towel to her breasts.

He wasn’t there.

She lay back down experimentally, her head making a soft indentation in the pillow. She felt his presence, like a ghost hand cradling the back of her head. In response, her nipples peaked against the soft terry cloth, and a tingling warmth throbbed between her thighs.

Ashamed of her body’s reaction, she squeezed her legs together, trying to will her arousal away. Instead the tension built, slowly becoming unbearable.

With no one else to touch her, she surrendered to temptation and touched herself.

W
hen Marc showed up on her doorstep at 5:25 the next morning, he looked tired.

In deference to the heat, or the occasion, he was wearing lightweight trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, not tucked in. His eyes were guarded, devoid of warmth, but his chocolate-brown hair appeared invitingly thick and lustrous. It was the kind of hair a woman liked to run her fingers through, and perhaps one just had, considering its tousled appearance.

Half as polished as usual, he was twice as handsome.

“Ready?”

“Yes.” She didn’t know proper etiquette for greeting a police officer at the door. “Do you want a cup of coffee…or anything?”

His dark gaze flicked over her. “No.” He took a pair of sunglasses out of his front pocket and covered his eyes, although it was barely light out.

Frowning at his brusque treatment, she stepped through the door and locked it behind her. She had to hurry to keep up with him on the way to the parking garage.

“We’re taking your truck.”

“Fine,” she replied. It made sense that he wouldn’t want Blue in his fancy car, growling and breathing down his neck.

“I’ll drive,” he offered. Shrugging, she tossed him the keys and climbed in the passenger side. Obviously he didn’t want to be here with her. So why had he suggested this outing? Deciding two could play at being unfriendly, she let the silence stretch between them.

They picked up Blue at the kennel, where Sidney did a quick feed and clean while Marc acted bored and looked impatient. By the time she was finished, the sun was burning through the early morning clouds, promising another hot, hazy day. Wiping sweat from her forehead, she moved to put Blue in the bed of the truck.

“I want him up front with us.”

“Why?”

“How else are you going to know if he reacts to something? You’ve got to pick up on his…vibe, right?”

It would be a tight squeeze with the three of them in the cab. Blue would have to sit next to the window, leaving her sandwiched beside Marc. She squinted at him over the hood of the truck. “Are you just trying to get close to me?”

She couldn’t see his eyes behind the lenses of his sunglasses, but she could feel his tension. “Why would I do that?” he asked in an even voice.

“To crowd me in. Intimidate me. You know.”

“Oh. Right.” He nodded, acknowledging that he’d done that before. “I make it a rule not to crowd a woman with an aggressive dog at her disposal,” he said with a sardonic smile. His teeth were strong and white against his dark skin.

Her stomach jumped at the sight.

Smiling back at him, a little uncertainly, she scooted across the bench seat and coaxed Blue in after her. When Marc got behind the wheel, she held herself stiff, careful to keep her body from touching his. Out of the corner of her eye, she studied his hands, manipulating the gearshift, noting the thickness of his wrists and the veins running down the length of his forearms. Remembering how she’d imagined those hands on her last night, she felt her entire body flush.

With a hundred pounds of panting, drooling, fur-covered mutt beside her, Sidney wondered how she could be so intensely aware of Marc’s presence. Blue had been bathed and brushed yesterday, but he still smelled like a dog.

Marc, on the other hand, smelled like a man. A clean, warm-skinned man. The faint scent of Old Spice clung to him. Deodorant, she realized, suppressing the urge to bury her face in his armpit and inhale.

They drove around the inland hills of Oceanside, through the neighborhoods near the San Luis Rey River for the better part of an hour, during which they hardly spoke. Blue sniffed and hung his head out the window, but didn’t seem to sense anything.

“Does he know what we’re doing?”

“I doubt it,” she admitted.

“Can’t you read his mind?”

She didn’t turn to look at him, because he was too close for comfort. “No. I don’t read minds, I just sort of get flashes. Feelings. Images.”

“What’s the difference?”

She shrugged. “You were implying that I know what everyone around me is thinking every moment.”

“Even if you touch someone, you don’t always know?”

“No. I usually don’t.”

That seemed to relax him a little, although she was sure he didn’t believe anything she said. “I guess I could have brought something of the owner’s for him to smell. Most dogs that haven’t been trained for search and rescue don’t know what to do with it, though.”

Abandoning the effort, he executed a three-point turnaround. As he shifted into Reverse, the side of his palm grazed the length of her bare thigh. The accidental touch sent another shiver of awareness down her spine. She felt his shoulders stiffen, and knew he wasn’t as unaffected by her proximity as he pretended to be. When he stopped at one of the many small parking lots along the San Luis Rey, she practically leaped out of the truck, relieved to be free of the sensual trap circumstance had created.

There was a wide sidewalk pathway running east alongside the river from the beach all the way to Camp Pendleton. It was used by nature enthusiasts at their own peril, for the area was known as a homeless hideout. Thick copses of eucalyptus tress and wild brush gave would-be robbers plenty of ambush spots.

“Do lots of people get mugged here?” she asked.

“Not really. Walkers and bicyclists don’t typically carry a lot of cash on them. Besides, most homeless are opportunistic criminals, not violent ones.”

She eyed the bushes with trepidation.

“Are you afraid?” He seemed amused. “I have my gun.”

“Do you?” She searched his body. “Where?”

“Here.” He lifted the side of his shirt, showing her his brown leather shoulder holster. Although he wore a ribbed cotton T-shirt underneath, the glimpse of hard torso was still exciting. “We’re perfectly safe. No one would think twice about accosting you with that savage-looking beast, anyway.”

“Someone assaulted Candace Hegel,” she pointed out.

He looked away from her, toward the river. “We’ll have better luck along the shore,” he said, stepping through the thick brush. She followed, careful not to slip over the pebble-strewn bank. Thorny branches scratched at her bare legs, making her wish she’d worn long pants, but she didn’t complain.

They hiked around for another hour, crossing the shallow river several times. Her shoes became wet and squishy, her footing precarious on the uneven ground. Sidney was feeling sorry for those down on their luck enough to live here when they came upon a group of rough-looking young men smoking marijuana in the shade of a California pepper tree.

Marc put his hand on her waist casually, keeping his body between the men and her as they continued along the shore.

“Aren’t you obligated to arrest people like that?” she asked.

“For what?”

“Smoking pot.”

“If I shook down everyone with a joint I’d never get any real work done. Besides, I can’t take on a whole gang. They’d have torn me apart.”

“What’s your gun for? Show?”

Rather than taking offense, he laughed. “I don’t pull my gun unless I intend to use it.”

“And have you?”

“No. I’ve never fired it on-duty.” He arched a glance at her. “My job isn’t as exciting as what you see on TV. I battle more paperwork than bad guys.”

No sooner had he said that than Blue took off like a shot, almost yanking her arm out of the socket. He tore through the underbrush, barking ferociously and dragging her along until they came upon a startling scene.

Under the cover of the trees, a man was on top of a woman, holding one hand over her mouth. His pants were pushed down his heavy thighs; her skirt was shoved up to her waist. As Sidney stood there, stock-still, a trickle of blood coursed over the woman’s ruddy cheek.

Blue went wild. It was all she could do to keep him from attacking.

“Oceanside Police Department,” Marc said, stepping around Sidney and flashing his badge. She could feel fury pouring off him in waves. “Move back toward me, with your knees on the ground and your hands over your head.”

Ignoring the order, the guy hobbled to his feet, pulled up his pants and fled.

He didn’t get far. The fugitive was built like a linebacker, but Marc took him down easily. He also punched him in the back of the neck a few times to subdue him. It was police brutality at its finest, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

She didn’t see the fallen woman launch herself at Marc until too late.

“Let him go!” the wild avenger screeched, clawing at his shoulders. Too practical to release his grip on the guy underneath him, Marc had no choice but to take the abuse.

Sidney couldn’t understand why any woman would defend someone who’d just been raping and beating her. Upon closer inspection, she had the coarse complexion of an addict and the hard look of a streetwalker.

Stepping forward, Sidney urged Blue along until his intimidating mug was just inches from the woman’s crazed face. “This dog is trained to protect police officers to the death, ma’am,” she said quietly. “I suggest you move away, real slow and easy.”

The woman wasn’t so hysterical that she failed to comply.

Thankfully the guy on the ground had been too stunned to retaliate during his victim’s effort to defend him. “Look, man, it’s not what you think,” he panted. “She likes it that way.”

“Right,” Marc muttered, patting him down. “Assault and battery is illegal, whether she presses charges or not.”

The man groaned.

“You’re both going to jail,” Marc decided. “Can you control him without the leash?” he asked Sidney, glancing down at Blue.

“Yes,” she said, releasing the leash and handing it to him. Putting her arms around Blue’s neck, she narrowed her eyes on the woman, daring her to feel lucky. Marc tied the strange couple together, back-to-back, and jerked them to their feet.

“Take the cell phone out of my pocket and call dispatch,” he ordered. She did, holding the phone to his ear as he requested a patrol car. Within five minutes, both assailants were on their way downtown.

“Boring desk job, huh?” she teased.

“It has its moments,” he allowed, casting an admiring glance her way. “I should deputize you. That was pretty fast thinking.”

She smiled at the praise. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun.”

His grunted response told her wrestling with lowlifes wasn’t his idea of fun. “I’ll have to go to the station now to write up a report. You want to take a rain check on this, or have you had your fill of police work?”

Looking down at Blue, sitting stoic and regal, she found she couldn’t say no. “Maybe you should deputize him,” she murmured, wondering if the dog’s reaction to men and violence was a reflection of what happened to his owner, or something he’d learned long ago.

Marc arranged for Lacy to pick him up at Pacific Pet Hotel, where Sidney invited him in to clean up his scratched neck.

He didn’t want her touching him, but he couldn’t politely refuse, and he needed an infection from a homeless prostitute’s fingernails about as badly as he needed hepatitis from Agua Hedionda Lagoon.

When she sat him down and pressed a cool washcloth to the back of his neck, he corrected himself. He
did
want her touching him. He just didn’t want to want it.

It didn’t matter that she wasn’t his type. It didn’t matter that she was probably a liar. It didn’t matter that she was a suspect. All he could think about when he looked at her was having her naked body underneath his, making the same soft panting sounds she’d made by herself last night. Listening to her, he’d wanted to order Lacy out of the room so he could finish himself off the same way. Instead he’d spent a miserable night contemplating his own perversity. With plenty of other women at his disposal, why was he lusting after this one?

She sprayed something that felt like stinging nettle on his neck, and he hissed out a breath, welcoming the distraction. “What’s that?”

“Antibacterial spray.”

She rubbed salve on the raw scratches, soothing the pain but inflaming his desire. If he didn’t get away from her soon, she wouldn’t need to read his mind to know what he was thinking. She’d only have to glance down at the front of his pants.

“Your arm needs some attention, too.”

He cranked his head over his shoulder to see what she was talking about, noticing the dull throb in his elbow for the first time. Blood was crusted in a large circle, the makings of a nasty scab, and dried rivulets snaked down his forearm. Again, it was in an awkward place, difficult to clean on his own.

“Go ahead,” he muttered. While he stood over the stainless steel sink, she washed bits of debris out of the wound. It was uncomfortable enough to keep his thoughts pure. “You aren’t wearing gloves,” he noted.

“Yeah. I should be.”

Damn right she should. He’d never touch a stranger’s blood with his bare hands. She rubbed triple antibiotic ointment on his elbow then wrapped it up with gauze and tape. “Thanks,” he said, curling his arm up to test the bandage. Tight, but not too tight.

“I wanted to be a vet,” she said wistfully.

“What happened?”

She shrugged, looking away from him, and he thought she was much too young to be giving up a dream.

“You’ve got some battle wounds yourself, Deputy,” he said, indicating the scratches on her long, lovely legs, using concern as an excuse to keep his eyes on them.

“Are you going to take care of them for me?” she teased.

His gaze jerked to her face. Was she toying with him? Perhaps today’s display of bravery, and even last night’s…episode…had been calculated. It didn’t make sense, because she couldn’t have known about the surveillance, and nothing about her was overtly seductive. Her ragged cutoffs were short but baggy, her face was smudged with dirt and her brown T-shirt had a dorky gecko on the front.

Then again, if she was trying to use her understated sexuality to manipulate him, it was working. “I’ll take care of anything you need me to,” he said in a low voice, just to see her reaction.

“Don’t,” she said, her eyes flashing with hurt.

“Don’t what?”

“Come on to me as an investigative technique.”

He’d unsettled her, and he liked that, so he smiled. “If not for this case, I’d come on to you for real.”