The Edge of Night (9 page)

For a date, he’d take the car. But—this wasn’t a date.

Running a loving hand along the side of the car, he whispered,
“Hasta la vista,”
locked the garage, and walked down to the bus stop.

“I’m not wearing that,” Meghan said, pushing the shirt at Cristina.

“Just try it on.”

“I can’t. It’s too …”

“Sexy?”

“Slutty.”

Cristina squinted at her. “Do you want to look like a girl or a boy?”

Meghan grabbed the black tank top Cristina had brought for her and went back into the bathroom, slamming the door. She changed quickly.

The thin black top had a low, scooped neckline edged in lace. It wasn’t as revealing as she thought it would be. Her boobs weren’t falling out, and her bra didn’t show. “Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Much better,” Cristina said with a nod, finishing her makeup. She was wearing a red tube top and skintight jeans.

Meghan had to admit, her friend had a great figure. Walking up beside Cristina, she scrutinized her own appearance in the mirror. With her smoky eyes and shimmery lip gloss, she hardly recognized herself.

“We look hot,” Cristina declared.

Anticipating Eric’s reaction, Meghan felt a flutter of excitement in the pit of her stomach. “Come on. I have to leave my brother a note.” Downstairs at the kitchen counter, she paused, pen in hand. “When do you think we’ll be back?”

“Just say you’re spending the night at my house,” Cristina suggested. “If I get too drunk to drive, we can sleep in my car.”

Meghan smiled, scribbling a vague message about staying with a friend. She’d never done anything like this before. The idea of having no set plan for the evening, of doing whatever struck her fancy, was both frightening and delicious.

She indulged in a brief fantasy of walking down the beach with Eric, spreading out a blanket on the sand …

“Oh, my God. Is this your brother?” Meghan glanced at Cristina, who was staring at a framed photo of her and Noah. “Yes.”

“He’s cute.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she said, her mind elsewhere. “Have you and Eric ever …”

“Hooked up?” Cristina turned away from the picture. “No. But it’s not for lack of trying. Maybe tonight I’ll get lucky.”

Her heart sank. Earlier, when she’d seen Cristina kiss Eric on the cheek, she’d wondered how her friend felt about him.

“Watch out for Jack, by the way. He has a total boner for you.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. But it’s a small one, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. Consider yourself warned.”

Meghan laughed, shaking her head.

“From what I hear, Eric doesn’t have that problem.” They walked outside together, where Cristina’s Ford Fiesta was waiting. As she drove to the beach, she continued to chatter about boyfriends and penis size, sharing a wealth of information.

Meghan found it all very fascinating.

Cristina glanced at her sideways, frowning. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“No,” she said, blushing. “My ex-boyfriend and I did it … once.”

“Only once? Did he break up with you right after?”

“No. I broke up with him.”

Cristina winced. “Was it that bad?”

“It wasn’t good,” Meghan admitted.

“Oh, honey. You need a real man. How long has it been?”

“Almost a year.”

“Oh, my God. Don’t you get tired of doing it alone?”

Meghan covered her face with her hands. She was going to die of embarrassment. “I can’t breathe.”

“Say no more,” Cristina said, giggling. “We’ll find you a cute guy. And one for me, too. Eric might not go for it because of my brother, but no worries. Jack has a bunch of good-looking friends, surfer types, so we’ll have plenty of choices.”

Meghan hoped Cristina would set her sights on anyone but Eric. Over the past week, she’d come to like him more and more. She watched him put produce away, his biceps flexing. The tattoo around his upper arm made her curious. She wondered what it said, what it meant … if he had others.

Every time he smiled at her, her tummy jumped.

Cristina parked in the pay lot at the south pier in Imperial Beach. It was full dark now, and a bonfire was already blazing. They brought a multicolored blanket with them, approaching the lively circle. About thirty young people were gathered around the fire, mostly guys in their early twenties.

Jack greeted them in his typical fashion, with a too-loud voice and a too-wide smile. Reggae music was blaring from a radio. His eyes were red, and he smelled like something sweet and a little acrid. Meghan scanned the crowd, realizing that they were smoking marijuana.

She’d never done that before.

“Get your drink on, ladies,” Jack said, pointing to a blue cooler. Inside, there were a couple of jugs of fruity liquid.

“What is it?” Cristina asked.

“Jungle juice,” he said, handing them both a cup.

Meghan accepted the drink easily. She might be inexperienced with pot, but she’d had alcohol before. Even Noah had given her a beer once.

It was no big deal.

“Whoa,” she said, tasting the juice. It was like fruit punch—with a kick.

Cristina took a healthy swig. “Go slow,
amiga
. It’s too early to get crazy.”

While Jack wandered back to his equally loud friends, Meghan sat down on the blanket with Cristina, about ten feet away from the fire. A cool night breeze drifted in from the Pacific, ruffling through her hair. It was a refreshing respite from the day’s heat.

None of the other girls at the party came over to say hello. The boys also continued to talk among themselves, having boisterous conversations that Meghan couldn’t follow above the lilting music and crashing waves.

Although she felt self-conscious, the atmosphere wasn’t unpleasant. The evening air seemed charged with energy, almost electric. Meghan sipped from her cup, stared at the licking flames, and waited for Eric.

It wasn’t long before the space around the fire became crowded with revelers. Someone started to pass a joint around. When it came to Cristina, she took a quick drag and handed it to Meghan.

Meghan stared at the burning cigarette pinched between her fingers. A couple of lame excuses filtered through her mind, ways she’d been taught to “say nope to dope.”

“Puff it or pass it,” one of the boys said. She passed it.

“I have to pee,” Cristina said, tugging on her arm.

Meghan’s cup was already empty, so she left it in the sand. She staggered sideways a few times on the way to the restroom, which struck them both as uproariously funny. She realized, with some chagrin, that she was already intoxicated.

It felt … great!

Still giggling, she used the facilities and trudged back down the beach with Cristina. The trip took several minutes, and walking seemed like a chore. When they returned to the bonfire, Eric was standing near the cooler with Jack.

“Hello, Mío,” she said, hugging him. The polo shirt he was wearing felt soft; the body underneath, anything but.

“I’m Gusto, remember?”

She laughed at her silly mistake. “Right.”

He had an odd look on his face, as if he didn’t quite recognize her. Then his gaze drifted south, settling on the lacy edge of her tank top. Rather than feeling embarrassed, she experienced a shiver of pleasure.

“Maybe you should sit down,” he said.

“Good idea.”

The four of them went back to the blanket, sitting boy–girl, boy–girl. Jack brought a half full jug with him. “Need a refill?”

Meghan lifted her empty cup. “Sure.”

Cristina also partook in the spirits, but Eric declined. He cracked open a can of beer instead, taking a long drink.

Meghan stared at his throat, mesmerized.

“Are you having fun?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said dreamily, wishing the crowd around them would fade away.

It didn’t.

Cristina put her arm around Eric, stealing his attention, and Jack lit up another joint. After taking a quick puff, he passed it to Meghan. “Thanks again, man,” he said to Eric. “This stuff is awesome.”

She took the joint from Jack, frowning. “You gave him this?”

Eric shrugged, neither admitting nor denying it.

Meghan had been tempted to take a hit the first time around. Knowing Eric had supplied the pot made her feel safer about trying it. Bringing the joint to her lips, she inhaled deeply and held her breath, wanting to do it right. Coughing a little, because the smoke burned her throat, she exhaled and passed it on.

Eric didn’t look impressed. In fact, he seemed irritated. He handed the joint to Cristina without smoking any.

Meghan started to feel very odd after that. Her skin tingled all over, and the rising flames warped her vision, making the faces around her appear distorted. It seemed like everyone was talking at the same time. She couldn’t distinguish individual voices.

Her heartbeat felt too heavy, her cheeks too hot. And her throat was so dry. She drank from her cup, trying to regain the contentment she’d experienced before.

Jack began to stroke the back of her neck, and his touch confused her further. She wanted male attention—but not his. Instead of protesting, she closed her eyes, struggling to overcome her disorientation.

When she opened them again, the world tilted on its axis. She straightened, trying to right herself. Beside her, Cristina had climbed on top of Eric, straddling his waist. Laughing, she pushed him down on the blanket, pinning him with a kiss.

Meghan turned away from the sight, nauseous. “I need some air,” she whispered in Jack’s ear.

He rose immediately, helping her stumble toward the shore. “Keep walking,” he said, putting his arm around her waist. “It’ll clear your head.”

She nodded and leaned against him, focusing on the task of putting one foot in front of the other. Her legs didn’t seem to work properly. Her mind was as sluggish as her steps. A few minutes ago she’d felt sexy and confident.

Now she felt like crying.

The pier loomed before them, monstrous stilts of treated wood jutting up toward the night sky. When the sand beneath her feet shifted, she sank to a sitting position.

Jack sat down beside her. “Drink this.”

It was bottled water. She gulped it eagerly.

“Go slow.”

After another, smaller sip, she handed it back. “Thanks.”

“Better now?”

“Yeah.”

They were silent for a few minutes. Meghan couldn’t get the awful image of Cristina kissing Eric out of her head. Despite her current state of inebriation, which was considerable, she knew she didn’t want Jack. She didn’t like him—not even as a friend.

But he was being nice to her, and she was hurt and angry and confused. So when he leaned over and pressed his lips to hers, very gently, she allowed it.

He slanted his mouth over hers, trying to deepen the kiss. She lifted her hand to his chest, hesitant. She meant to stop him, but her balance was off. Before she knew it, she was flat on her back in the sand, and he was stretched out on top of her.

At that moment, Meghan felt totally disconnected from reality. The only thing she could think about, while he skimmed his hands over her breasts and thrust his tongue into her mouth, was what Cristina had said about his small boner.

Instead of pushing him away, she turned her head to the side and laughed.

He froze at the sound.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, still laughing. “I just … thought of something funny.”

“Shut up and lay still,” he said in a strained voice, fisting his hand in the lace between her breasts. His knuckles dug into her cleavage, hurting her, while his other hand fumbled with the waistband of her jeans.

Meghan stopped laughing and started to struggle. As she twisted beneath him, her shirt ripped down the front, exposing her all the way to the belly button. He grunted his approval and lifted up, allowing her to enough freedom to roll over.

She tried to crawl away from him on her hands and knees, her head spinning. Was this really happening?

When he jerked down the back of her pants, tearing her underwear in the process, she clutched at the sand and screamed.

8

The mood at Club Suave was tense.

Lola’s murder remained unsolved, and all of the waitresses were on edge. As far as April knew, Tony Castillo hadn’t been charged with the crime, though he remained in jail. The police hadn’t named another suspect.

Her funeral had been this morning. April took Jenny along, avoiding eye contact with Tony’s friends while Lola’s mother wept. Again, she regretted never reaching out to Lola and tried not to imagine a similar demise for Josefa.

Eddie and most of the Club Suave staff had also attended. Her boss looked stiff and formal in an ill-fitting black suit, the cuffs a half inch too short, buttons straining over his midsection. The waitresses clung together, pretty and sedate with their pulled-back hair and minimal makeup. April read the expressions of fear and sorrow on their faces, feeling hollow. Lola had caused a lot of friction at the club. She’d been high maintenance, high drama. But no one had wished her this sad end.

The entire neighborhood was in mourning. Lola had been a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend, a coworker. Chula Vista had lost too many residents to drugs, violence, and gangs. Everyone who lived here had been touched by death.

The same tragedies that rocked the city made it stronger. The community members came together through similar experiences and a shared heritage. Many were survivors who’d endured hard times before.

Like the funeral service, Josefa’s departure had been a quiet, heartrending affair. Jenny had cried for hours, finally falling into a fitful sleep late that evening. She liked the lively atmosphere at Consuela’s house and seemed to be adjusting well to the change of caretakers, but she asked about her grandmother often.

April hadn’t heard from Josefa since she left.

Jenny also had questions about Officer Young—Noah.
Who was that man, Mommy? Why was he talking to you?

Besides Eric, there were no men in their lives. Even before Raul went to prison, he hadn’t taken much of an interest in parenting.

April hadn’t had a father when she was growing up, either. Her dad lived fast and died young; her parents never married. It had always been just the two of them, April and Josefa. Then, after Jenny came along, just the three of them.

The house seemed so empty without her mother there.

Now that the extra bedroom was available and every vestige of her mother was scrubbed away, April had a queen-sized bed to herself. The additional space felt odd. She’d tossed and turned every night this week, plagued with concerns about finances, neighborhood troubles, and Josefa’s well-being.

There was another, more embarrassing problem. Seeing Noah at the park had thrown her hormones into overdrive, and being alone in that big bed amplified her discomfort. She couldn’t stop imagining his strong hands all over her body, stroking her to completion.

Sleep had been elusive, and she was exhausted.

Although she felt like slumping in the nearest chair, April held her head high, delivering the bill to a table of raucous college boys. Only one more hour until closing time. She couldn’t wait to shower and crawl into bed.

The loudest guy at the table reached out as she passed by, detaining her. “It’s my friend’s twenty-first birthday,” he shouted. “How about a lap dance?”

April stared at the hand on her hip. No one would ever grab a waitress this way in a restaurant, let alone ask her to put on a sleazy show. It was insulting and idiotic. “Sure,” she said anyway, smothering a yawn. “Who’s the birthday boy?”

With a lopsided grin, the customer pointed at the ruddy-faced guy on her left. He looked harmless and a little reluctant.

She held out her hand, inviting him to come with her. When he stood, she did a quick, graceful maneuver, taking his seat. Once there, she smiled up at him expectantly, waiting for him to start dancing.

The guy glanced around the table in surprise, realizing he’d been duped. His friends burst out laughing.

April pantomimed opening a shirt, encouraging him to take it off.

He was a good sport, and his friends were egging him on, so he unbuttoned his shirt for her, swaying his hips to the music. April applauded his efforts, enjoying the role reversal. His physique was less than svelte, which made the striptease even funnier.

Laughing, she patted his backside when he turned around.

When she’d first started waitressing, she was afraid of her customers. Over the years she’d gained enough confidence to joke around. She was still careful about letting them get too close, but she didn’t suspect every man she waited on of wanting to hurt her.

Before she left the table—with a great tip—she kissed the birthday boy on the cheek to thank him.

On her way back to the cash register, she noticed a man standing at the bar, watching her. His stance was casual; shoulders relaxed, hands in his pants pockets. He was wearing a simple white dress shirt and tan trousers.

It was Noah.

She’d seen him this morning at Lola’s funeral. He’d paid his respects and left, never having approached her. She wondered if he had a girlfriend. A man like him wouldn’t have any trouble attracting beautiful, willing women.

There were a couple of hungry-eyed young ladies checking him out right now.

Although he couldn’t have been oblivious to the attention, his gaze didn’t linger on any particular female as he surveyed the room. Rather, he nodded at the group of college boys she’d just waited on.

Realizing he’d witnessed the spectacle, she felt a flush rise to her cheeks.

“Is spanking one of your regular job duties?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Only on birthdays.”

“I’ll remember that.”

She couldn’t resist smiling back at him. Out of uniform, he was even more handsome. His shirt fit nicely, accenting his broad shoulders. With the sleeves rolled up and the tails not tucked in, he looked comfortable. He wasn’t trying too hard to be cool, and she liked that. She’d never been impressed by the guys with bulging biceps, designer T-shirts, and gelled hair.

Mirror-kissers, the waitresses called them. They didn’t tip well.

“I’d offer you a drink,” she said, leaning her hip against the bar, “but last call was five minutes ago.”

“I didn’t come to drink.”

She wanted to ask why he came. The idea that he’d made a special trip for her made her throat go dry. She swallowed, staring at the open collar of his shirt. The other day she’d caught a glimpse of his bare stomach. It was taut with muscle, slick with sweat.

The sight had played a major role in her fantasies all week.

“I’m working, actually. Scoping out the clientele.”

She blinked away an image of her sprawled over him, her cheek resting on his flat belly. Concentrating on the clothed Noah, she lifted her gaze from his torso. This morning he’d been wearing a tie and jacket. “Were you working at Lola’s funeral?”

“I would have gone anyway.”

“Why?”

He paused, considering the question. “Because I feel connected to her. I was the first on the scene.” His blue eyes met hers, intense and earnest. “Her death … the case … it’s very important to me.”

The lights overhead clicked on, a rude glare that signaled closing time. Grumbling patrons began to shuffle out the front entrance. April crossed her arms over her chest, self-conscious in her cheap outfit and heavy makeup.

Noah was so clean-cut, so handsome and sincere. In contrast, she felt soiled, as if the grit of the club coated her skin. Her hair probably smelled like booze and cheap cologne. “What about Tony?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“He has an alibi.”

“You don’t think he’s responsible?”

“No. But he’s involved in some other crimes, so it was good to get him off the streets. You did the right thing.”

She glanced toward Eddie’s office. He hadn’t said a word about Lola, but he’d donated some funds for the funeral. Perhaps his conscience was bothering him. “I have to clear tables.”

“When do you get off?”

“A little after two.”

“Can we talk?”

She felt a twinge of unease. Or maybe it was just excitement. At the park, when he’d asked about Raul, she’d been convinced that his interest was personal. He wanted to know if she was available. For him.

April was an expert in letting men down easy. She received offers from customers almost every night. Some requested her phone number or tried to give her a friendly hug. Others invited her to wild after-parties, hot-tub socials, and hotel-room trysts.

None had tempted her half as much as Noah.

“I’ll wait for you in the parking lot,” he said, studying her face.

Although a polite demurral was second nature to her, her mouth refused to form the words. “Okay.”

He turned his attention back to the crowd, his lips curving with satisfaction. The expression was another hint that he wanted more than information from her.

Heart pounding, she went behind the bar and filled a glass tumbler with ice and lemon-lime soda. Any amount of interaction with him was a risk. Eddie would assume she was turning against the neighborhood, telling secrets.

Hand steady from years of practice, she passed Noah the tumbler, watching while he took a measured sip. He didn’t seem surprised that she remembered his preference.

She stared at his mouth, wondering how it would taste.

Blushing, she blinked out of her stupor, grabbing an empty tray from the bar as she walked away. Feeling his eyes on her backside, she added a little extra swing to her hips. Then she glanced over her shoulder, catching him looking.

He smiled, guilty as charged. And lifted his drink, saluting her efforts.

Laughing breathlessly, she set her tray down and started to clear off tables.

Noah watched the Club Suave parking lot from a distance, drumming his hands against the steering wheel.

Over the past week, the trail had grown cold. Santiago seemed convinced that the murder was a random act of violence, but Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that the killer would strike again. He’d driven by the club several times this week, scanning the parking lot.

Although Eddie Estes, the club’s manager, had been investigated, he’d been working late the night of the murder. Security cameras showed him leaving the club at 5:00
A.M
., well after the estimated time of death.

Estes might not be a murderer, but he was a shady character, and Noah didn’t like him.

He was also disappointed with the lack of progress in the investigation. Most homicide cases that weren’t wrapped in the first forty-eight hours went unsolved, so he knew the clock was ticking. Failure would be devastating, and it wasn’t even his case.

Noah had been burning the candle at both ends all week, performing his regular duties on the gang unit and volunteering on homicide. He hadn’t been home much, and he suspected that Meghan was enjoying his absence. She had a job he couldn’t find fault with, and she’d enrolled at Southwest College. The other day she’d brought home a bag of groceries and some decorations for “her” room.

She was definitely staying. And their mom was
pissed
.

As the parking lot emptied of patrons, he kept his eyes peeled for suspicious characters. He saw a very drunk young woman, slumped against her friend’s shoulder, and a couple of possible DUI candidates. None of the drivers violated any traffic laws or showed obvious signs of impairment.

After most of the customers had cleared the area, April came out of the back entrance, chatting with another waitress, Carmen.

Trying to remain objective, he analyzed the similarities between April and Lola. They had the same hair and eye color, the same basic height. They were both slender, although April was a little curvier. From a distance, it would have been difficult to tell them apart.

April waved goodbye to Carmen, yawning behind her hand. The streetlamps overhead cast shadows under her eyes, accentuating her fatigue. Inside the club, she hid it well, keeping her smile bright and her posture straight. If the sexy spike heels she wore made her feet ache, she didn’t show it.

Noah felt a strange tug in the middle of his chest. He was familiar with physical desire, and he’d even been in love before. But he couldn’t remember having an overwhelming urge to give a woman sleep.

He got out of his truck, letting her know he was there.

She stopped near a ten-year-old beige Taurus, waiting for him with her arms crossed over her chest and a sardonic expression on her face. “I’m not going out with you.”

Noah was surprised by the declaration. He hadn’t said anything about a date. And he wasn’t used to getting shot down in advance. “Fair enough,” he said anyway, clearing his throat. “Is this your car?”

She followed his gaze, frowning. “Yes.”

“Did you drive it to work last week?”

“Actually, it was in the shop until Wednesday.”

“For what?”

“The air conditioner wasn’t working.”

“Did you get it fixed?”

“No,” she muttered. “I couldn’t afford the repair.”

He nodded. “How did you get home on those nights?”

“Carmen.”

Noah rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the scrape of new stubble. Carmen had given Lola a ride the night she was murdered. Friday night. One week ago, exactly. “Did you have any trouble with customers last week? Or see any strange men in the neighborhood?”