Shattered Glass (9 page)

Or to buy you loafers or sneakers or anything that kept me from thinking about those slippers. And then you started listing prices for other things that suddenly sounded a lot better than coffee.” There it was. The twitch of Peter’s lips that told me he was hiding a smile. I waited it out, hoping I was thawing some of the ice. “Cai buys the slippers,” he said tersely.

I tried to pinpoint what it was that had me so fascinated. I wasn’t sure it could be defined.

“You’re staring again, Detective Glass.” I didn’t turn away from the accusation, but my fingers sought out my badge on the table, spinning it gently on the Formica. “I was curious about what a date would have been like with a guy.

With you.”

“Why don’t you ask me and find out?” His answer surprised me, and maybe himself, if the way his lips pressed together and his eyes widened in shock was any indication.

“See,
now
there’s a problem. You’re a witness in a case.” I ignored the stab of disappointment in my chest, even when it grew sharper as Peter’s shoulders dropped in relief.

“Iss, you mean? You can’t ask me on a date because I know Iss?”

“Iss?”

“Prisc. He doesn’t go by that. Reminds him of when kids at school called him Prick. We call him Iss,” he said, flipping my

business card over on its edge. One hand still crossed his chest almost protectively. His t-shirt read ‘FCUK’. Yeah. I’d agree with that exclamation. “Anyhow, I’m not in that life anymore. I haven’t been in four years.”

His use of ‘anyhow’ reminded me of his accent. “Where are you from, Peter Rabbit?” I asked softly.

It took a few seconds but then he smiled, the same one that took my breath earlier. And I was no less affected. “Mamma used to call me that.”

Part of my intuition was knowing when not to talk. So far I’d proven unreliable in that arena when it came to Peter, but I knew that if I asked about his mother, his walls would shoot back up. So I sat there in silence, watching his long fingers tumble the card end over end, tap it a few times and then stop.

Instead of answering that question, he went for the original one. “We used to hook up. Nothing serious. He was the first guy that didn’t pay me. I was sixteen, Iss was twenty-nine and Joe threatened him with jail time if we kept fucking. So we stopped.

It wasn’t a big deal for either of us. I mean he wasn’t taking advantage of me. It just…was what it was.” He pursed his lips and shrugged.

“And today?”

Another shrug as he met my eyes. “He was searching for a friend of ours. I didn’t know where he was so I told him that.” “That made him kiss you?” That was not jealousy in my voice. It wasn’t. I did need to release the death grip on my badge, though. Peter noticed and cocked his head, but didn’t say anything about it.

“Iss,” he began and twisted his lips a few times. “Iss still

remembers the sixteen-year-old that told him everything. I’m not that boy anymore.”

“Not that naïve, you mean?” I was hoping he’d grin and remember when he called me that. I was right about the first part.

“Been a long time since I was wet behind the ears, Detective.

If I ever was.” He smirked, but it appeared more sad than anything else. “Anyhow, no, I didn’t mean it that way.
You’re naïve. Me? I was just taken with Iss. We talked about everything.” He jerked his chin up at me. “What’s he supposed to have done?”

That was my cue to throw a question back, because it was never a good idea to answer that question. Lawyers filed lawsuits for maligning a person’s character. So naturally, I did it anyway. “He’s been charged with human trafficking involving forty-seven Mexican nationals ranging in age from eight to thirty.

The feds might add charges when they take over the case. Who was he after?”

“Iss? You’ve got the wrong guy, Detective,” he replied. It was deliberate avoidance of my question.

“Sounds like someone still taken with him.” “No. I told you I wasn’t that boy anymore. I’m just telling you that Iss isn’t ambitious enough to do anything like that.” The indifference in his voice was what convinced me he wasn’t a lover trying to defend his boyfriend. “What makes you say that?” The thing that had me intrigued was that there was almost a puzzle piece clicking into place with Peter’s statement.

Based on Alvarado’s previous petty arrest history, he didn’t seem capable of running such a complex scheme as human

trafficking on his own.

“He didn’t even deal anything stronger than weed or party favors when we were together. And Joe let him hang around after we stopped hooking up. No way he’d even let him in the door here if he was that shady. They were together just a few days before Joe died.” I locked that tidbit of information away.

Something about the way Peter looked out the window again almost made me doubt his veracity. Almost.

“What about Terrelle Gaines?” Peter began laughing. I think that was my answer. I would have been blown away by the way he brightened, but I was too busy computing how our case was going to hell.

“Terrelle? Terrelle shakes down the older trannies because he has zero game. Even the younger boys have kicked his ass.

Janine once beat him over the head with her shoe. Chased him down the street hobbling on one high heel and trying to hold her wig on with the other hand. No way would Iss deal with Terrelle other than to beat his ass.”

The problem with this statement was that Terrelle had given us seven strong leads in the past few months. He’d developed a trust with Luis and me. And he had given us Alvarado. But I trusted Peter. Probably because I was so fucked in the head right now.

“Why was Joe meeting with Iss?”

“Iss was like me, way back when Joe started on vice. Joe took him in, tried to set him on the right path.” He tapped my card a few times, read it, and then flipped it again. I waited as he fell silent, trying not to push. Yet. “Joe doesn’t give up. Didn’t. Joe didn’t give up. Even after eighteen years, he still tried with Iss.”

“But you don’t think Iss wouldn’t be into anything big.” “Iss deals some E, sometimes the new stuff at the clubs, nothing hard. Not ever. Not even meth.” He opened his mouth to add something, but then his lips disappeared behind his teeth.

“There’s something else,” I nudged.

He nearly broke my mind again when his fingers dragged through his hair. My physical response was so intense, my lips parted to expel a harsh breath. Christ, I wanted him. “I told him some of what I heard you say on the phone Saturday.” Oh, fucking shit hell. “About how Gaines had sold him out?” “About how he should maybe go away, do nothing for a while. I didn’t mention Terrelle. I just told him not to meet up with anyone.”

I had to ask. “Why are you telling me all this?” “Why wouldn’t I? There’s been a few assholes here trying to…, But most of the cops have been decent. And I liked Joe.

He wouldn’t want Iss going down for something he didn’t do.

Okay? Now, that’s as much as I know about Iss and anything he’s done. I’m done with all of this, detective. Leave me alone.” “Give me a name. Someone that might clarify things. If it’s not Iss, then I need someone who
is
ambitious.” He was already half out of the booth, but he considered my request as he stood there, flicking my card against his fingers.

“I’ll ask around.” I slid out of the booth and caught his wrist as he pushed the doors to the kitchen open. He turned and regarded my hand, then schooled his expression into ice. “I said I’d—”

“Let me buy you coffee? Or loafers? Or goddamned sunscreen.”

“I thought you couldn’t—”

“Yeah, I’m also not supposed to pay for hookers or go home with guys. There’s a lot I keep doing around you that I’m not supposed to.”

“Am I going to finish a sentence on this date?” “Depends on how often your lips are in range of mine.” Where that came from, I didn’t know. Didn’t care either, because Peter
smiled
. He rolled his eyes, but he did smile. Then he gave a slow, almost reluctant nod, and said the magic word.

“Okay”.

“Three o’clock, Saturday. I’ll pick you up here.” I checked his feet as I released his arm. “And wear the bunny slippers.” “Have they drug tested you recently?” “I’ll bring the results on our date,” I winked. My grin stayed in place until I spun around. That was when I closed my eyes and took a deep, shaky breath as I headed to my car. Several minutes of deep breathing later, I was finally controlled enough to call Luis with what I knew.

After we set up an interview for the next day with Prisc and his lawyer, I drove home whistling. My case was unraveling before my eyes, but I had a date with Peter on Saturday. He might not even stab me in the face during it.

It amazed me what constituted a victory these days.

But my joviality was short-lived when I found Angelica making dinner when I arrived.

She Left With The Only Bottle of Soy Sauce When Angelica and I took the plunge into dating, we each owned a home. I, the Victorian apartment building that I adored,

and she, a two million dollar brick mansion three miles away in the most expensive neighborhood in Denver. When I proposed we had the only serious argument we’d ever had: about where we were going to live. Eight weeks before our wedding, the jury was still out.

I was probably going to give in. Move into her house and settle into our life together. I knew it, and she knew it. But it was a difficult loss for me because I’d invested so much time and energy into this little building. Angelica understood that, too. So she put up with our living apart. For now.

We almost exclusively slept at my place when we spent nights together, though it was getting harder to explain our lifestyle to our friends. We were monumentally independent. It took almost two years for her to allow me closet space and drawers at her place. But she was always able to make herself at home in mine. Go figure.

She worked as a junior partner in a law firm—my father’s law firm to be exact. Her hours could best be described as horrendous. At worst they could be called excruciating. Most of the time, seventeen-hour days were the norm for her. Thus, she came over whenever her schedule allowed.

“Hello, lover,” Angelica greeted me with a smile over the island that separated the kitchen from the living room.

“Are you cooking?” I sniffed the air. “There’s no smoke. The fire alarm isn’t sounding,” I said with a heaping dose of suspicion.

“You scoff, but what are you going to do when I actually do cook something?”

“Check and see what aliens have invaded your body and

exchanged your soul for theirs.”

“You can peek under my skirt right now,” she taunted, holding up a spatula and a steaming frying pan.

My smile faltered. I concentrated on the TV, snatching the remote off the end table and flipping it on. “You did not cook that,” I accused.

Angelica’s soft laugh filled the room. I avoided her gaze. I had been avoiding
her
actually, because I didn’t want to argue.

And I was going to venture a guess that my wanting to bone a guy would be a big point of contention. We were going to have to talk about it.

I sat on the sofa, remote in hand and flipped through the channels. Even if something was on, I wouldn’t have noticed.

The TV held no interest for me other than as an excuse to avoid her some more. She was on to me, however.

I wasn’t acting any differently than normal. I never rushed over to her and kissed her or groped her after long periods apart.

I needed distance first. Distance from what I saw and dealt with on the job. At least, that’s what I told myself was the excuse. So I wasn’t sure why she instantly figured out something was up.

Woman’s intuition?

“What’s wrong?” Angelica asked, flipping open two beers and setting one in my hand. She gently removed the remote and placed it on the coffee table.

Curling up beside me, she rested an elbow on the back of the sofa. Her fingers played with the hem of her skirt, where her feet peeked out. I concentrated on these small things, hoping I’d find some measure of attraction that was even close to what I felt for Peter.

“How do you do that?” I asked with a rueful laugh and a pull on my drink while I stared at her tiny toes.

“Probably something to do with being in love with you. But mostly because I’ve known you since you were sixteen.” “That was an interesting day.” Deflect. Deflect. Deflect. I couldn’t have the conversation we needed to have.

Always able to read me, Angelica took the hint and went with the subject change. “It was. Your father had asked you to take that Testam girl to her junior prom. And when I got back from lunch, you were cowering in my office to avoid doing so.” “ H e
ordered
me to take her.” I grinned, picking at the condensation-softened label. It peeled away in a stripe under my thumbnail.

“Lovely girl.”

I chuckled at her sarcasm. “It was your fault I took her.” “I just mentioned it wasn’t worth fighting over. It was one dance. I was getting a little tired of the arguments between you two.”

“Arguments? I can count on my hands the number of words Desmond Glass has said to me since I was six—and most of them started with ‘Son, I’m disappointed in you’.” “If you had spent half the energy on pleasing him as you did on the things that ticked him off, he’d start sentences off differently.” Her hand rested on my shoulder. I shook it off.