Razor's Edge: Men in Blue, Book 2 (11 page)

Isabella’s infectious laughter had him mirroring her grin as they scrambled down the metal fire escape hand in hand. “Never snuck out of the house as a teenager?”

“Kind of hard when your father has cameras everywhere and an entire security force patrolling the grounds. When certain guards were on duty, I’d slip into the garden for unauthorized walks at night. That was as far as I could go. There are a lot of things I’ve never done.”

He hated it when her dimples disappeared. Why had he mentioned her past? Hell, half the time he forgot who she was and where she’d come from. She seemed completely unpretentious and grounded. How could that be possible?

“How about riding a motorcycle? Ever done that?” Ah, the adventurous spark returned a secret glint to her eyes. Sexy as hell.

“Nope.”

“Want to try it?”

She bit her lip then nodded as they reached the edge of the parking lot.

“Come on.” Razor threw one leg over his motorcycle. He patted the seat behind him. The bike barely dipped as she climbed aboard, leaving as big a chasm as possible between them. “That’s not going to work, Izzy. Let’s try to keep you from bouncing off, okay?”

He groaned when she scooted close, her thighs bracketing his as she plastered along every inch of his ass and back.

“Better?”

He had to try twice before he wheezed, “Yeah.”

With what he hoped was a stealthy shift, he adjusted the length of his hard-on where it jabbed the folds of his too-tight jeans. Razor kick-started the motorcycle. He raised his voice to carry over the engine, which roared to life beneath them. “Hang on, princess.”

Izzy banded her arms around his abdomen. She delighted him by laying her cheek on the fabric of his touring jacket between his shoulders. Most inexperienced riders couldn’t pry their terrified gaze from the road, spooking at every tiny bump or turn. Isabella stayed calm and relaxed as he pushed off to navigate the somewhat heavy afternoon traffic. She counterbalanced the lean of the bike, following his lead with the same effortless grace as she did in the waltz.

Even when he reached the highway and opened up the throttle, she molded to him without tensing or clutching his chest in a death grip the way some women had when he’d caved to their relentless harping for a ride. In fact, he’d never found it very enjoyable to tote someone along on his excursions. He savored his independence. Somehow, having Izzy with him didn’t seem like an imposition.

The heat of her core radiated into him despite the brisk spring air. They leaned forward, into the speed, together. If riding alone hadn’t always guaranteed his hard-on, the weight of her supple breasts on his back and the tendrils of her lustrous mane fluttering in front of his visor would have had his cock filling in a rush.

Razor glided into the ample gap left by a truck exiting the road. In the bug-eye lens of his side-view mirror, he caught a glimpse of a non-descript Ford. Familiar to him, since the force used similar cars for their undercover work, he’d noticed this one behind them near the mall. He found it a little odd to see the vehicle tailing them regardless of the lane changes he’d made on the more maneuverable motorcycle.

Had the chief sent someone to babysit him?

The idea rankled enough to stir his impulsiveness. No matter how foolish it made him, he indulged the whim, bucking his recent attempt at maturity.

He removed one hand from the grip to squeeze Izzy’s fingers. She nodded against his shoulder then clung a little tighter. Now he had to follow through. Acceleration would be a better outlet for his testosterone than the alternative. After the sizzling kiss they’d shared in Arthur’s store, Razor swore setting the sheets on fire with Ms. Buchanan would do the trick, but the ramifications would be unacceptable.

At the next safe opportunity, he revved the engine, gunning it past the tractor-trailer, which hogged the left lane, up the slight incline in the road. An RV behind them formed a rolling roadblock.

Fuck off.
He aimed mental daggers at the poor schmuck obeying orders as the dude swung over the rumble strip for one last look at their retreating backs. He hoped it wasn’t JRad, Matt or one of the other guys from his division. He didn’t mean to cause them heartburn with the boss, but it sucked donkey dick. They didn’t trust him enough to see to his charge on his own.

Then again, if it hadn’t been for Arthur’s intervention, who knows where that kiss would have led him. Probably straight to hell. At least he’d have had fun burning there with Izzy. Until he surfaced to the shame of falling for another woman with a shady past.

Why couldn’t she come clean to him? She’d wavered in his hands earlier when he’d examined the marks blanketing her otherwise flawless body. They looked new, but mostly healed. Superficial. Whoever had marked her had intended to frighten and cause pain. Not to scar her. By the fear he’d glimpsed in her eyes, they’d done one hell of a job.

Either her innocence had been validated or she’d gotten involved in something bigger and badder than she could handle. Christ knew it wouldn’t take much. No matter what she’d become tangled in, Izzy didn’t possess the guile that had made Gina’s stories so believable. She couldn’t lie worth shit. When uncomfortable, she stalled, clamming up instead of crafting some ingenious tale. Her bluffs might as well have been fashioned out of glowing neon.

So maybe she had no part in her husband’s affairs. Or maybe she simply sucked at the game.

He blew past the exit leading to the studio as frustration made his head so hot he thought steam might fog his helmet. The lure of the open road had him winding along his favorite combination of curves, hills, dips and bridges in the state park outside the city limits.

Pine and the fresh scent of last night’s rain replaced exhaust fumes and the bitter aftertaste of regret before long. They could spare twenty minutes for him to clear the interference in his mind. Otherwise, he’d be no good to either of them. If nothing else, the last half-year had taught him how to win control.

Razor looped around the circuit, taking turns at the top-end of wise, always riding the fringe of excess. Didn’t it figure? He wasn’t exactly known for his tact like Tyler or his calm reasoning like JRad—impulse was his trademark.

Why should driving be any different?

By the time they’d circled around to the front gate again, he aimed them onto the highway for the return journey. Five more minutes and they’d be face to face, chest to chest and toe to toe. Now, he’d be able to lock away the lust that had gripped him earlier to ensure things stayed all about the case at hand.

At least that’s what he thought before he rolled into the dilapidated lot behind the studio. That goddamn sedan perched, pretty as you please, in the corner. As if he wouldn’t spot it behind the brush. Now his fellow officers thought him unobservant in addition to young and reckless. He’d give them two of the three. The last one he’d fight for.

He considered himself a damn good cop in the making. Sure, he could use some more experience, but why else would they have granted him this second chance despite some doubters who expected him to blow it? Someone saw potential in him.

Razor planted one booted foot on the pavement with enough force to send tremors zinging through his damaged thigh. He left his helmet in place while Izzy peeled her lithe frame from his, leaving him cold and exposed. No chance he’d let those assholes spot the hunger she sparked in his gut.

When he finally allowed himself to glance at her windblown face, he thanked the powers that be for having the presence of mind to wait. Her rosy cheeks and glittering eyes tempted him to run off on an escapade he knew she’d welcome as much as he would.

Had she smothered that part of her nature in her socialite world?

Razor forced his fingers to uncurl. He tried to act nonchalant as he stripped off his gear.

“That was amazing! How did you learn to ride? Do you think I could…?”

“Don’t mention it.” His gruff response seemed overly harsh, but he couldn’t stand to listen to her laud him when he’d had ulterior motives. Besides, he had to take care of this shit before it bubbled out of hand and he didn’t need her around to witness him get dressed down.

“Why don’t you head in? Warm up. I have to make a call…” He trailed off, unwilling to take the lie further. He hadn’t mastered the art anyway, if her dissipating smile gave any indication. The pair of them could benefit from a set of decent poker faces. Neither one seemed capable of real deceit. Though he’d worked undercover for nearly two years, something in him had changed when those bullets pierced his flesh.

To her credit, she didn’t call him on it. He wanted to chuck his helmet when her spine stiffened, replacing her loose-limbed openness with stiff formality.

She surprised him when she shook off some of the reaction with a sigh. “Is everything okay?”

As okay as coming home to a steaming pile of dog shit in your favorite chair. And that’s how he felt, as though he’d crapped on the cease-fire they’d forged together. Especially since he couldn’t level with her now.

“Fine. I just need a minute. Please.”

Isabella nodded. She had his chest cramping all over again when she trailed her fingers over his cheek before walking away.

He rolled his head on his neck, wincing at the pop and crackle of several vertebrae, to drain the lingering effects of her touch. He stormed toward the copmobile, ready to vent his frustration on someone who knew how to fight back. Hopefully, it’d be Matt. He moonlighted as a bouncer, though he rarely had to do more than fling that I-can-kick-your-ass-with-one-hand-tied-behind-my-back glare in some little punk’s direction before they found somewhere else to cause trouble. Or maybe Clint, Razor’s usual sparring partner at the gym.

The guys had taken it easy on him since he’d reappeared at their fitness sessions. No more. They’d gone too far this time. He didn’t appreciate someone holding his hand or shadowing his every move. He wouldn’t stand for being babied. He didn’t need training wheels on this first assignment since his grand fuck-up.

Ready to make himself clear, he drew up short when he realized the car had been abandoned. No one, familiar or otherwise, sat in the driver’s seat. He hauled his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket to speed dial JRad.

“Who is it?” He didn’t bother with a greeting when the other man picked up.

“Who is what?”

It hurt that his friend played dumb instead of cutting the crap.

“The man who drew the short straw and has to keep an eye on me.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair then gave up. Nothing could truly tame the mess his helmet had made. “Is it Matt? Clint? Who?”

“Slow down there, Razor.” The sound of typing in the background supplemented JRad’s placating tone. “I’m pulling up the schedule. As far as I know, you’re flying solo. The chief didn’t assign anyone to you in our briefing this morning. Kid, there’s no one here.”

“Someone tailed us. Now this piece of shit is sitting right here in my face. Someone’s watching, officially or not.”

“What piece of shit? Give me something to go on.” JRad donned his computer whiz hat, always eager to search for the answer.

“Black. Taurus. Late nineties. Plate number 87HN21.”

More clattering keys. “It’s not ours.”

“What the fuck do you mean it’s not ours?” Razor swiveled around, searching for tracks or some sign of the driver who’d done a lame job of camouflaging his ride. He laid his palm on the hood. Still warm. “It’s the same one I saw earlier. I’m sure of it. Left headlight’s misaligned and the motor’s been off less than twenty minutes, I’d say.”

“Registered to some dude who died two weeks ago. Supposed to be taken in for overdue taxes. Hasn’t been picked up yet. It’s not us. Take cover, Razor. Where’s Isabella?”

“Son of a bitch! I sent her inside by herself. Dispatch Mason, Tyler, Matt… Christ, anybody.”

“Wait for backup before entering.” JRad’s warning huffed out as though he sprinted along the hall to the detectives’ unit.

“You know I can’t. Just send someone. Quick.”

Chapter Eight

Jeremy’s shouted curses trailed from Razor’s phone as he disconnected, already tearing up the stairs to the third story. At the landing, he forced himself to slow. He strained his ears for any indication of something out of place, but his heart hammered too loud for him to be sure of the all clear.

Nightmare visions of his bloody handprints crawling across the safe house carpet threatened his composure. The memory of agony staved off only by the hope of alerting his partners of the danger he’d placed them in fragmented his focus. The terror chilling him now mingled with the trauma of that night until he staggered under the combined weight of dread laced with pain. He didn’t have time to clear the cobwebs of doubt and fear ensnaring him. Izzy needed him. Now.

Keep your shit together.

In a crouch, he fisted his pistol in a two-handed grip, inching toward the studio at the end of the hall.

Stairwell, clear.

Bathroom, clear.

Hallway, clear.

Clear but with no sign of Isabella either. He snuffed the panic threatening to shatter his concentration, rounding the corner braced for the worst. He peered into the shadowy corners of their rehersal space with frantic sweeps of his trained gaze.

What he faced almost surpassed his macabre imaginings.

Isabella rounded on him. The soft smile tugging the corners of her pert lips vanished when her mouth gaped open. Horror transformed her blue eyes into glaciers. Before he could yank the sight of his gun—which followed his laser focus—from between the icy pools, she stumbled backward.

She went down. The
whap
of her skull hitting the barre on the mirrored wall cracked through the open space. She scrambled from him in a grotesque crabwalk. Her instant reaction would have sent his heart plummeting through the floor if it hadn’t already been relegated there by his own disastrous blend of past and present.

“Izzy! Shit. Don’t freak.” Razor flipped on the safety. He rammed the muzzle of his gun into his waistband as he rushed to her side.

She didn’t hear his pleading. Instead, she shot him a look so full of disillusion and panic, he thought he’d wither on the spot. How could she think for one instant he’d harm her?