Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) (24 page)

I want to believe h
e’
s attracted to me. 
I’
d told myself earlier that he was, but so what?  Even if he is, nothing can happen.  How could it, with Berta Colby warning me never to bring home a cop?

I’
m gonna end up alone,
just like Berta
. 

And then I think of my razor blade. 

This is all too much.  I want to cut.  I
need
to cut.

“I’
m not going home
,”
I say, planning every detail of how I will cut.  Ther
e’
s a spot on my arm tha
t’
s raw, cut so deep the scar tissue has built up. 
I’
ll begin there.  It used to hurt when I first started cutting, but now I have to cut deeper into the scars.  Tha
t’
s what I decide to do.

“I’
m going to work
,”
I say, certain Omar needs me to dance An
g’
s shift tonight, but secretly needing to get rid of the LEOs and go cut.
 “
I mean, at my other job at . . . Oma
r’
s
.
”

It hits me then: Ang wo
n’
t ever dance again.  I choke back a sob.

“
Oh, Jee-sus
,”
Barbie snorts, like she ca
n’
t bear girls who cry.

“
I could use a ride to my frien
d’
s house
,”
I add, glaring at her, wanting to slap the arrogant smirk off her face.  Has
n’
t she ever had reason to cry?  Has
n’
t she ever lost someone she loves?
 “
If I can get to his house, h
e’
ll help me get to work
,”
I say, fighting back tears.  No way am I giving Officer Barbie the satisfaction of seeing me cry. 

Picking up on the deat
h’
s head glares
I’
m shooting Officer Barbie, Aidan says
,“
Detective Laws, go call Wes . . . now
.
”

She ignored his previous command, but this time Aida
n’
s commanding tone gets her moving.  Already on her cell phone calling Wes for her ride, she strides in a huff from the copy room. 
I’
m secretly pleased
.

“
Do you feel ready to talk now
?”
he asks.

“
Why would
n’
t I
?
”
 
Anger and frustration causes me to resent the empathy in his tone.  An empathetic LEO? 
Not!
  I mean, wh
o’
s he think h
e’
s dealing with? 
I’
m a freaki
n
’ Colby!  Like
I
should trust a cop?

“I’
m fine
,”
I say.
 “
Wher
e’
s that photo?  I want another look
.
”

* * *

I ca
n’
t bear seeing those bites on her shoulder, but
I’
ve made Ang a promise.  Standing close to Aidan Hawks and feeling sweat pooling in my armpits, I only hope I can keep it.

“
Try to relax
,”
he says, touching my shoulder lightly.  I let his hand rest there this time.
 “
I just need to know a couple of things
.
”

Like where my brother is and if he murdered my best friend?
 

“I’
m okay
,”
I say
,“
Really
.
”
 
Liar,
a little voice shoots back, my shoulder burning where Aidan touched me.  The attraction is definitely chemical, and it feels mutual, or at least I tell myself so.  Disturbed by my physical reactio
n—
i
t’
s all happening so quickly that it feels like a dream, a fairytal
e—
I step away from him.  My frien
d’
s dead.  This is
n’
t good timing.  Standing closer to the copy machine, I stare at the photo, trying to make sense of the bite marks. 

“
They look like bird tracks
,”
I say, peering at the funny looking bite wounds
,“
or feet
.
”

“
Good
,”
Aidan says, glancing over my shoulder, so I feel his nearness, the comfort of it, the heat.
 “
Tha
t’
s what they are.  The
y’
re feet
.
”

“
Wha
t’
s this pervert trying to prove
?”
I ask.
 “
Why would anyone do this to her
?
”

“
The
y’
re part of his signature
,”
Aidan says
,“
I
t’s
—”

“
I
know
what signature is
,”
I interrupt.
 “I’
m a criminology major
.
”

“
Sorry, I know you are
,”
he says, then changes the subject to hide his discomfort,
I’
m guessing, with my shrill, discordant tone. 

Trying to do a better job of controlling myself, both physically and emotionally, I take mental notes.  Detective Hawks has obviously ran a background check on me.  I would.  Yet feeling automatically guilty, like
I’
ve got something to hide, makes me even angrier with myself.  Why should I care? 
I’
ve got a clean record. 

Then my little insecure Colby voice says
,“
But your famil
y’
s record is pretty black
.
”

“
Do you have any idea who coul
d’
ve done this, Ms. Colby
?
”

“
I
t’
s Alaina, and no
,”
I say, warding off a bolt of fear.  I ca
n’
t rat out Robin, can I?
 “
No, I . . . do
n’
t
.
”

He shifts, and I smell a whiff of clean shaven skin, the leather of his holster, the starch of his shirt.  This copy room is just too freaki
n
’ small to handle the primal conversation our bodies are having.  Out of anger,
I’
d wanted to kiss him earlier, to bruise his lips.  Goosebumps prickling my neck, I avoid looking into his eyes, sure he knows
I’
m lying about knowing who I think migh
t’
ve murdered Ang.

But am I? 

I gaze at the photo, unable to tear my eyes from An
g’
s pulpy shoulder. 

Could Robin have done this?

“
How long have you known her
?
”

“
Uh
.
”
 
I swallow.  Is he trying to trap me into revealing details about Robin and Ang?  What does he already know? 

“
I . . . not very long
,”
I say.
 “
We met in my dance class last semester.  Sh
e’
s a dancer, uh, she was a dancer at Oma
r’
s, like me
.
”

“
Did she have any boyfriends
?
”

I tense.  In between guys last semester, sh
e’
d dated Robin.  But I ca
n’
t mention this without rolling over on my brother.
 “
Um, she told me she did last week, but I do
n’
t know his name, his real name, I mean
,”
I add, aware offering a tidbit of info is better than offering nothing at all.
 “
Everyone calls him Suds
.
”

“
What about enemies
?”
he asks, letting my evasiveness drop, for now.  I know h
e’
ll jump right back on this when he wants. 
I’
ve taken several classes on interviewing suspects, potential perps, witnesses.
 “
Do you know if she had anyone wh
o’
d want to harm her
?
”

I stare at the photo.  My frien
d’
s dead.  An
g’
s truly dead.  Somebody wanted her that way.  I cringe, thinking of the pain she mus
t’
ve endured.  Did she have an enemy wh
o’
d want to do this to her, or was my friend just someone like me, a college co-ed trying to make a living, but who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time?

I shrug.  Maybe whoever did this had
n’
t targeted Ang specificall
y—
i
t’
s too early to tel
l—
but he was definitely someone
I’
d consider her enemy.
 “
She had at least one enemy, did
n’
t she
?
” 

“
I guess tha
t’
s it, then
,”
he says, folding the photos into a manila folder.

His effort to hide a quick frown at my non-answer tells me h
e’
s picked up on my evasiveness.  LEOs can pick up on the most seemingly insignificant gesture, a slight shift in body stance, a change in tone of voice.  This, I also know from my background, and what
I’
ve learned in class.

He pulls the folder from the copy machine and stares down at me with that incredibly sexy snarl curling his lips, a smile of disappointment, maybe, his green eyes questioning and his gaze boring into me.
 “
Come on. 
I’
ll drive you to your frien
d’
s
,”
he says.  

My gut flip-flops.  I know
I’
ve been busted, but I ca
n’
t roll over on Robin, so I look for alternatives. 

Stoke.  Angie hated Stoke.  Would
n’
t Aidan find this fact interesting?  Saying nothing, I give him the address to Stok
e’
s apartment.  I do
n’
t know who killed Ang, not for sure.  I do know this, though: if Robin did, I need to get to him before Aidan Hawks does.  And who better to help me find An
g’
s killer than Stoke, a criminal justice major, same as me?

Chapter 21

“
Your friend lives here
?”
Aidan asks, pulling to the curb in front of Stok
e’
s apartment house.
 “
Damn!  The place needs some rehab work, does
n’
t it
?
”

He thinks
this
is a dump?  I could show him a real dump, my house in Goshen.  I fold my arms and stare at the bleak brick building with its crumbling concrete steps.  This place reminds me of our trailer park, the bare muddy yard pocked by motorcycle parts and even in November, blanketed by grimy snow.  So grim.  What would Aidan say if I took him home to
that
?  How would he react?

“
This plac
e’
s not so bad
,”
I say, defensive, scoping out the two-story brownstone, its red brick f
aç
ade smoked a purplish black by age and pollution, the exhale of a city busy being industrious.
 “
Lots of nice folks probably live here
.
” 

“
Are you shitti
n
’ me
?”
he asks, raking his gaze across my body.
 “
Maybe John Wayne Gacy . .
.
”

Unable to help myself, I giggle.  I
t’
s uncanny how comfortable he makes me feel, how desirable.
 “
Do
n’
t let the dope deal going down on the corner fool you
,”
I joke.
 “
This is a high-rent neighborhood
.
” 

Joking about dirt and poverty is
n’
t cool, but it helps release my anxiety.  Aidan laughs, too, and our gazes catch and lock.  I enjoy his masculine voice with its gravelly edge, the way his eyes do
n’
t ask but take possession of my body, and the way we slip into comfortable with a capita
l“
C
,”
despite the warning my heart keeps sending. 

I’
m definitely flunking Berta Colby 101: no LEOs.     

“
Good thing
I’
m not with Cinci Vice
,”
Aidan says
,“
or the
y’
d be downsizing this rat hole in a hurry
.
”

“
Yo
u’
re right.  I
t’
s awful
,”
I agree, sighing.  At what point should I tell him what I know about Ang hating Stok
e—
and about my suspecting Robin?

An ice cube pricks the base of my spine.  It was a bad idea to plan to attempt to seduce Aidan Hawks back at Verbote Dental.  H
e’
s an alpha dog.  Even in the short time
I’
ve known him, i
t’
s easy to see he likes to call the shots with women. 
I’
m okay with that.  I like strong men.  In fact,
I’
ve always imagined my grand daddy, the young musician hitch-hiking to Cincinnati to perform a gig in some dive, was strong.  I only wish Grandma Colby had told him about the child, my mother, who h
e’
d fathered. 
I’
m sure he woul
d’
ve stepped up to the plate and taken responsibility for his child.  Maybe my mo
m’
s life woul
d’
ve been vastly differen
t
—

Maybe mine would be, too.

“I’
ll need to ask you more questions
,”
Aidan says, jolting me back to the present.

“
Do
n’
t worry,
I’
ll stick around
,”
I say.
 “
I intend to find out who killed my friend
.
”

His look turns serious.
 “
No.  Stay out of this.  I
t’
s police business
.
”

“
My frien
d’
s dead
,”
I shoot back.
 “
That makes it
my
business
.
”

“
I
t’
s not safe, Alaina.  Do
n’
t meddle.  You could get hurt.  You could b
e—
killed
.
”

“
Thanks for the ride
.
”
 
Ignoring his warning and grabbing my backpack, I open the door of the Buick, an obvious unmarke
d—
way too clean and sedate for Aidan Hawk
s—
and scoot across the seat toward the door, hoping against hope h
e’
ll ask for my phone number.

But what chance do I have? 
I’
m a Colby.  Goshen Gimp.  Crip.

Stop.  Stop short-changing yourself because of your family, because yo
u’
re a Colb
y—
i
t’
s unfair. 

If I want him, why should
n’
t I have Aidan?

“
Alain
a
—”

The way he says my name, the touch of his hand on my shoulder, shocks me.  I struggle with my emotions, my need. 
I’
m aching for this guy.  H
e’
s solid, not stick-in-the-mud solid, but steady-as-she-blows, Viking-hot-seaworthy solid.  H
e’
s built for the stormiest wild waves, a ride
I’
m having no difficulty imagining. 

His hand lingers. 

I think he wants me.  If
I’
m reading him right, his smile, the way he keeps throwing sideways glances at me, touching me. . . .  Our gazes meet, a new experience for me. 
I’
ve never before felt intimacy this deep, especially not this quickly.  This time,
I’
m certain the chemistr
y’
s there for him, too.  The front seat of his Buick shrinks to a small torrid piece of real estate, although not half as hot as the fire scorching my insides. 

“
I liked you the second I saw you
,”
he says.
 “
I do
n’
t want to feel like this, but I feel like w
e’
re the only two people in the world right now.  Is that wrong
?
”

I know what Berta would say.
 “
No, i
t’
s not wrong, just another LEO and his white-trash snitch
.
” 

How difficult is it to have front-seat sex in a Buick? 

“
Not as difficult as it is to have sex in the bucket seats of a Mustang
,”
Berta Colby would also advise
,“
but still fun with just about anyon
e—
except a cop.  No cops
.
”

I’
m her genetic clone, but Mom and I differ in one huge way, and tha
t’
s with regard to a particular cop: this one.  We barely know each other, but our bodies keep talking sweet-talk.  I
t’
s a phenomenon, a chemical attraction calle
d“
love at first sight
.
”
 I’
ve heard Ang talk about it, but never felt it until now.  Waves of desire flood parts of me
I’
ve not known I had, awakening me to new physical sensations.  The April sun reflecting through the Buic
k’
s windows washes over me like hot milk, adding to my bod
y’
s warmth. 

“
You do
n’
t understand what
I’
m about to say
,”
he says, leaning toward me
,“
bu
t
—”

Eyes closed, I lean across the seat, push my body toward hi
m—
slightl
y—
since this has to be his ide
a—
Mr. Alpha Do
g’s—
and then I wait expectantly for his kiss. 

I feel his hand fall from my shoulder to my breast.

Oh my God!
 

For one heartbeat, he lets it linger there, his grazing fingers so light I think
I’
m imagining it.  He quickly moves his hand to my face and cups me under the chin until, opening my eyes, I gaze into his. 

“
—
this is a homicide investigation, Alaina.  Other than as a possible witness, yo
u’
re out of this.  Got it
?
”

You could knock me over with a feather.
 “
What
?
”

He pulls back, removing the nearness tha
t’
s making me ache in ways imaginable only in the trashy wet dreams of a sex maniac like Tater McClosky.  Or a certified nymphomaniac like my mom.  I
t’
s doubtful she would, but if she ever did do a cop
I’
m sure sh
e’
d insist on doing it in the cruiser, just to heighten her enjoyment.  Sh
e’
s that kinky.

“I’
m sorry.  I should
n’
t have touched you
,”
he says.
 “
I
t’
s . . . wrong
.
”

I did
n’
t imagine it.  H
e’
s apologizing, feeling awkward, unprofessional, maybe.
 “
No, i
t’
s no
t
—”
 I’
ve already made up my mind: I will have sex with a LE
O—
this
LE
O—
in the front seat of this Buick, right here.  Right now.

“
Alaina, I respect the fact yo
u’
re a criminology major, and I know how you feel, bu
t
—”

The moment of heady brilliance, of complete nonverbal communication, the physical attraction w
e’
ve just shared, evaporates.  Poof!  Gone!  I want to jam his hand back onto my breast, but instead I say
,“
You do
n’
t think
I’
m up for the job of helping find An
g’
s murderer, do you
?
”

I yank my backpack across the seat and scoot toward the door.

“
Not true
,”
he says, and then when I keep scooting
,“
will you wait a minute, dammit?  I
t’
s police business, not yours.  I
t’
s also dangerous.  You could be hurt
.
”

“
Yeah, sure
,”
I say, opening the door.  Like this effing LEO gives a shit about me?  How stupid I am.
 “
You have no clue, so keep out of my life and my private friendships an
d
—”

“
Alaina,
I’
m telling you this only once
,”
he says, interrupting my rant, the command in his tone drawing me up short.
 “
Do
not
insert yourself into this investigation. 
I’
ll charge you with obstruction.  If you force my hand,
I’
ll toss you into jail.  Megalo Do
n’
s a killer.  He likes exotic dancers, which means yo
u’
re at risk.  Dancing topless at Oma
r’
s, wearing that skimpy outfit and exposing yourself to every crazy perver
t’s
—”

“
Megalo Don?  So tha
t’
s the name of the bastard who killed my friend
?
”