Night Shield (9 page)

Six days after the Chamberses’ burglary, Ally stood in her lieutenant’s office. To save time, she’d already changed into her waitress gear for the evening. She had her badge in the pocket of her trousers and her clutch piece strapped just above her ankle.

“We haven’t been able to trace one single piece of stolen property.” She knew it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “There’s no news on the street. Even Hickman’s bottomless sources are dry. Whoever’s pushing the buttons on this is smart, private and patient.”

“You’ve been inside Blackhawk’s for a week.”

“Yes, sir. I can’t tell you any more than I could the first day. Between the security tapes and my own in-the-field observations, I’ve tagged several regulars. But nobody pops. On the upside, my cover’s secure.”

“Fortunately. Shut the door, Detective.”

Her stomach sank a little, but she did so and stood in the glass box of his office with the noise from the bull pen humming behind the clear wall.

“On the matter of Dennis Overton.”

She’d known it was coming. Once she’d made the complaint to the D.A.’s office, it was inevitable that some of the flak would scatter into her own house.

“I regret the incident, Lieutenant. However, the way it ultimately played out added to my cover rather than detracting from it.”

“That’s not my concern. Why didn’t you report his behavior previously to the D.A.? To me?”

They both heard the unspoken
To your father.

“It was personal business and, until this last incident, on my personal time. I believed I could handle it without involving my superiors or Dennis’s.”

He understood the defensive stance because he understood her. “I’ve spoken with the district attorney. In your complaint to him you state that Overton has, over a period of time beginning the first week of April, harassed you with phone calls both here and at home, has staked out your apartment, followed you on and off duty.”

“He didn’t interfere with the job,” she began, then wisely closed her mouth when her lieutenant stared at her.

Kiniki set aside a copy of her written statement, folded his hands on it. “Contacting you against your stated wishes when you’re on duty, as well as when you’re off, interferes. Are you unaware of the stalking laws, Detective?”

“No, sir. When it became apparent that the subject would not desist in his behavior, could not be discouraged and could potentially interfere with this investigation, I reported his behavior to his superior.”

“You haven’t filed charges.”

“No, sir.”

“Nor have you, as yet, requested a restraining order.”

“I believe a reprimand from his superior is sufficient.”

“That, or being knocked back by Jonah Blackhawk?”

She opened her mouth, closed it again. She hadn’t mentioned that part of the incident to the D.A.

“Overton claims that Blackhawk attacked him, unprovoked, in a fit of jealous rage.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” The words, and the disgust in them, were out before she could stop them. She yanked at her hair once, then bit down on control. “That is completely inaccurate. I didn’t detail the incident, Lieutenant. It didn’t seem necessary. But if Dennis insists on making trouble here, I’ll write out a full report.”

“Do it. I want a copy on my desk by tomorrow afternoon.”

“He could lose his job.”

“Is that your problem?”

“No.” She blew out a breath. “No, sir. Lieutenant, Dennis and I dated for a period of three months.” She hated this, bringing her personal life into her superior’s office. “We were … intimate, briefly. He began to display— Hell.”

She dropped the copspeak, approached the desk. “He got possessive, jealous, irrational. If I was late or had to cancel, he’d accuse me of being with another man. It got way out of hand, and when I broke things off he’d come by or call. Full of apologies and promises to be different. When I didn’t go for it, he’d either get nasty or fall apart. Lieutenant, I slept with him. Part of this situation is my doing.”

Kiniki waited a moment, pulling on his bottom lip while he studied her. “That’s one of the few stupid remarks I’ve ever heard you make. If a victim came to you describing this situation, would you tell her it was her doing?” When she didn’t answer, he nodded. “I didn’t think so. You would follow procedure. Follow it now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ally …” He’d known her since she was five. He tried to keep the personal separate as religiously as she. But there were times … “Have you told your father about this?”

“I don’t want to bring him into it. Respectfully, sir, I’d prefer you didn’t discuss it with him.”

“That’s your choice. The wrong one, but yours. I’ll agree to it if I have your word that if Overton so much as breathes within ten feet of you, you report it to me.” He cocked his head when her lips quivered. “That’s amusing?”

“No, sir. Yes.” She let go of the cop-to-cop stand. “Jonah made nearly the same statement, Uncle Lou. I guess it’s … sweet. In a manly sort of way, of course.”

“Always had the smartest mouth. Go on, get out of here. And get me something on these burglaries.”

*  *  *

Since most waitresses-in-training didn’t drive classic Corvettes, Ally was in the habit of parking two blocks away and walking the rest of the distance to Blackhawk’s.

It gave her time to shift gears, to appreciate what spring brought to Denver. She’d always loved the city, the way the buildings, silver towers, rode into the sky. She loved seeing the mountains go from winter-white to those steely jags laced by snow and forest.

And though she enjoyed the mountains, had spent many wonderful days in her parents’ cabin, she preferred to view them from city streets. Her city.

Her city had scarred-booted cowboys walking down the same streets with Armani-clad executives. It was about cattle and commerce and nightlife. It was about the wild, coated with a sheen or polish but
not quite tamed.

The East would never hold the same appeal for her.

And when spring was in full, balmy life, when the sun beamed on the white-tipped peaks that guarded Denver, when the air was thin and bright, there was no place like it in the world.

She stepped out of the city, and into Blackhawk’s.

Jonah was at the bar, the far end, leaning casually, sipping what she knew was his habitual sparkling water and listening to one of his regular customers complain about his day.

Those light and beautiful green eyes pinned her the minute she walked in, stayed steady, stayed level and gave away nothing.

He hadn’t touched her since the night behind the club, and had said little. It was best that way, she told herself. Mix duty and lust and you end up compromising one and being burnt by the other.

But it was frustrating to see him night after night, to remain just close enough to maintain illusions and not be able to take a complete step forward or back.

And to want him, the way she’d never wanted anyone else.

She shrugged out of her jacket and got to work.

*  *  *

It was killing him, by inches. Jonah knew what it was to want a woman, to have one stir blood and loins and spin images in the mind. It could be a kind of hunger that slowly churned in the belly, gnawing there until it was finally satisfied.

This was a hunger, his desire for Ally. But there was nothing of the slow churning in it. This was sharp, constant and painful.

No other woman had ever caused him pain.

He carried the taste of her inside him. He couldn’t rid himself of it. That alone was infuriating. It gave her an advantage he’d never allowed another to have over him. The fact that she didn’t appear to know it didn’t negate the weakness.

Where you were weak, you were vulnerable.

He wanted the investigation over. He wanted her back in her own life, her own world, so he could regain his balance in his.

Then he remembered the way she’d erupted against him, the way her mouth had scorched over his and her hands had fisted in his hair. And he began to worry he’d never find his feet firmly planted again.

“Good thing we don’t have a cop around.”

Jonah’s fingers tightened on his glass, but his eyes were mild as he turned to Frannie. “What?”

She pulled a beer, poured a bump, then served it. “A guy could get arrested for looking at a woman that way. I think it’s called intent or something. What you intend is pretty clear, at least when she’s not looking.”

“Really?” And that, he realized, was another worry. “Then I’d better watch myself.”

“She’s doing plenty of watching,” Frannie murmured as he walked away.

“The man’s got trouble on the brain,” Will commented. He liked coming over to Frannie’s end of the bar so he could get a whiff of her hair or maybe work a smile out of her.

“He’s got woman on the brain. And he’s not altogether easy with this one.” She winked at him and squirted a glass of the soft drink Will drank by the gallon during working hours.

“Women never trouble the man.”

“This one does.”

“Well.” He sipped his drink, scanned the bar crowd. “She’s a looker.”

“That’s not it. Looks are surface stuff. This one’s got him down in the gut.”

“You think?” Will tugged on his little beard. He didn’t understand women and didn’t pretend to. To him they were simply amazing creatures of staggering power and wonderful shapes.

“I know.” She patted Will’s hand and had his heart throbbing in his throat.

“Two margaritas, frozen with salt, two house drafts and a club soda with lime.” Jan set down her tray and walked her fingers up Will’s arm in a teasing, tickling motion. “Hey, big guy.”

He blushed. He always did. “Hey, Jan. I better do a round in the club.”

He hurried off and had Frannie shaking her head at Jan. “You shouldn’t tease him like that.”

“I can’t help it. He’s so sweet.” She flipped her hair back. “Listen, there’s this party tonight. I’m going by after closing. Want to tag along?”

“After closing I’m going to be home, in my own little bed, dreaming of Brad Pitt.”

“Dreaming never gets you anywhere.”

“Don’t I know it,” Frannie muttered and sent the blender whirling.

*  *  *

Allison carried a full tray of empties and had two tables’ worth of drink orders in the pad tucked in her bar apron. Only thirty minutes into shift, she thought. It was going to be a long night. Longer, she realized when she spotted Jonah coming toward her.

“Allison, I’d like to speak with you.” About something, anything. Five minutes alone with you might do it. Pitiful. “Would you come up to my office on your break?”

“Problem?”

“No,” he lied. “No problem.”

“Fine, but you’d better tell Will. He guards your cave like a wolf.”

“Take your break now. Come up with me.”

“Can’t. Thirsty people waiting. But I’ll shake loose as soon as I can if it’s important.” She walked away quickly because she’d heard it, that underlying heat that told her what he wanted with her had nothing to do with duty.

She stopped at her station beside Pete and ordered herself to settle down. Since he was in the middle of entertaining three of the stool-sitters with a long, complicated joke, she took the time to rest her feet and study the people scattered at table and bar.

A twentysomething couple who looked like they were on the leading edge of an argument. Three suits with ties loosened arguing baseball. A flirtation, in its early stages, starting to cook between a lone woman and the better-looking of a pair of guys at the bar. Lots of eye contact and smiles.

Another couple at a table laughing together over some private joke, holding hands, she noted, flirting some even though the hands wore wedding rings. Well married, happy and financially secure if the designer handbag on the back of the woman’s chair and the matching shoes were any indication.

At the next table another couple sat having a quiet conversation that seemed to please them both. There was an intimacy there as well, Ally noted. Body language, gestures, the smiling looks over sips of wine.

She envied that … comfort, she supposed, of having someone who could sit across the table in a crowded place and focus on her, care about what she said, or what she didn’t have to say.

It was what her parents had—that innate rhythm and respect that added real dimension to love and attraction.

If it was lovely to watch, she wondered, how much more lovely must it be to experience?

Brooding over it, she listened to the laughter break out at Pete’s punch line. She placed her orders, listening absently to the chatter around her, scanning, always scanning the movements, the faces.

She watched the hand-holding couple signal Jan, and the woman pointing to an item on the bar menu when the waitress moved to the table to take the order. Bending down, Jan waved a hand in front of her mouth, rolled her eyes and made the woman laugh.

“The hotter the better,” the woman claimed. “We don’t have a club table until eight, so there’s plenty of time to cool down.”

When Jan had scribbled down the order and moved off, Ally found herself smiling at the way the man brought the woman’s hand to his mouth and nipped at her knuckles.

If it hadn’t been for that kernel of envy that kept her attention focused on them, she might have missed it. As it was, it took her several seconds to note the picture had changed.

The woman’s bag still hung over the back of her chair but at a different angle, and the outside zipper pocket wasn’t quite closed.

Ally came to attention, her first thought to focus on Jan. Then she saw it. The second woman sitting with her back to the first, still smiling at her companion. While under the table, smooth and unhurried, she slipped a set of keys into the purse she held on her lap.

Bingo.

“You gone to the moon, Ally?” Pete tapped a finger on her shoulder. “I don’t think anybody’s waiting for vodka tonics up there.”

“No, I’m right here.”

As the woman rose, tucked her purse under her arm, Ally lifted her tray.

Five-four, she thought. A hundred and twenty. Brown hair, brown eyes. Late thirties with an olive complexion and strong features. And just now heading toward the ladies’ room.