Undercover Lover (9 page)

Chapter Eleven

T
he September night wasn’t cold enough to keep Drake’s eyelids from fluttering in boredom. It was only eleven p.m., but the banter on the radio had died down as his back-up settled in for a long night. He had been making his way along the docks looking for any gang activity, but it seemed quiet tonight.

Shuffling over the rocks, he sent a pair of rats squealing down to the water line. When he sat down with his back to one of the wooden pilings, they got a little braver. He hissed at them and threw a rock. They eyeballed him, but decided to move on to less active prey.

The sounds of the water hitting the pier were soothing, and he found his mind wandering back to his godfather. McNally and Johansson were going down the addicts-looking-to-score route, but at least they weren’t completely willing to rule out the organized crime angle. The FBI guy that had come in due to the bombing at the Tasting Room was sticking around for a few days, poking his nose into the investigation. Normally, that would have set his teeth on edge. But in this case, the more hands the better.

After about a half hour of watching the rats fight over a discarded fast food hamburger, Drake hauled himself up and started the long walk back to the housing projects. The GPS tracker in his shoe would alert the police van that he was on the move. Voices carried on the water this late at night, and he didn’t want to give himself away. He took a swig from the bottle he carried inside a plain, brown wrapper. It was Gatorade, but he wished it was something stronger. Something like the Stoli Crystal that he’d shared with Pam.

A grin spread across his face before he remembered to hide it. He wondered what she was doing right now. Probably sleeping. He amused himself wondering if she’d wear a night shirt to bed or nothing at all. She was great. Too bad he’d had to meet her when all this stuff was going down. His godfather, the gang violence, the
vor z zakone
making their presence known in the form of her brother.

Drake shook his head. He still couldn’t remember Pam from high school days, but he did remember Darren. He had been a geek, book smart like his sister probably was. How did a kid like that become a wheelman for some wannabe wise guys looking to get rich and famous off a badly planned bank robbery?

Plunking himself down in a doorway of one of the dockside restaurants, it took only a moment before he was noticed.

“Get out of here. You’re scaring the customers.” A man came out of the door and made shooing sounds.

“Sorry,” Drake grumbled. “You got anything to eat?”

The man looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, but you got to take it and not come back.”

“Bless you, sir,” he said. Drake doffed his golfer’s hat as the man pressed a bag of rolls and butter in his hands. The restaurant looked empty when he had peeked in, but the bar looked rowdy. He didn’t see anything suspicious, so he continued on. He “dropped” the bag of food next to another man who was sleeping by the locked gates of the boater’s yard.

The next place he stopped at was in an area he was familiar with from working Vice. He only hoped not to be recognized in turn. Checking his reflection in the mirror, he was pleased with the result. Hunching over like he was hid his bulk and made him look less threatening. Drake hadn’t been able to grow a full beard back, but he’d enhanced his stubble with some mud and dirt. He hadn’t taken Pam’s advice and worn contacts. It would make his eyes itch, and he didn’t want the distraction.

He slumped down in a parking lot, close enough to hear two hookers talking about getting out and starting fresh somewhere warm. Looking around for their pimp, he didn’t see anyone and wondered if these were Gregor’s girls. He lumbered past them and figured he nailed the disguise when the girls looked down in disgust at him and kept on with their conversation.

The radio crackled in his ear, and he flicked a glance, but it didn’t seem like the girls had heard it. He moved a little faster to get to the next alley, just in case.

“You’re not going to believe the call Houston just took.”

Fear leapt in him as he could only think of one reason why Mark would break the tacit radio silence. “Is Pam all right?” he muttered low into his chest. He was alone in the alley, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

“Funny you should ask. I just got off the phone with her. She’s fine. Gregor and Piotr, on the other hand, are on their way into the station.”

“What happened?” he gritted out.

“They were caught on the hospital’s security cameras taking a sledge hammer to her car windows and a switchblade to her tires.”

“Hospital?” he growled. He’d specifically told her to go to a hotel. Not in her office, where anyone looking for her would just have to ask for directions to Dr. Krupin’s office. She should be eating fifteen dollar peanuts and watching HBO right now.

“But that’s not the reason I tagged you,” Mark said. “Houston got a call from your newest snitch.”

“Pam’s patient, Chick?”

“Yeah, apparently the Rips want him to light a bum on fire in order to be a full member of the gang.”

Drake felt a wave of relief that they’d finally gotten the gang doing this, followed by a flare of gut-wrenching panic. “Where were they heading?”

“Berger Park.”

“When?”

“Midnight.”

“That doesn’t give me much time.”

“Then why are you wasting it talking to me? I’m sending a few cars nearby. I’m putting two more under covers in the park. I don’t want to risk not getting these little bastards.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Drake said. “They’re not going to burn another person. Not on my watch.”

“No stupid risks, Drake.”

“Crenshaw, meet me in the men’s room at the Towne Diner with a bag of my clothes. I’ll do a quick change so no one fingers me as a cop, and then you can drive me to the park while I change back in the van. Hopefully, we’re not too late.”

“Roger that,” Crenshaw said.

Drake’s pick up and relocation went off like clockwork. He was dropped off a few blocks from the park and staggered in through the south entrance. There were three other officers in the park in various shades of homeless by each of the entrances. Drake thought they’d either go for the female cop acting like a drug addict, or him, acting like a drunk. The other two weren’t pretending to be impaired.

It all depended on where the gang entered and what their agenda was. There weren’t any targets. Any other vagrants would have been shuffled off by foot patrol as soon as the call came down. Of course, there was always a chance they could have missed someone. Also a possibility that the Rips had seen all the activity and decided on another park, another day. However, Mark didn’t call back. If Chick kept his cool and didn’t bail, they’d be here in about ten minutes.

Adrenaline coursed through him. All sleepiness was banished by the giddy feeling of making a bust. Drake sprawled himself on a park bench, letting his hand with the Gatorade bottle dangle. He closed his eyes and tried to meditate like Pam had walked him through during that Reiki session. It hadn’t cured his bum leg, but it made the rest of him feel pretty good. He’d have to stop razzing her about it. Especially if they were going to be spending a lot more time together.

“Look here, Chicky. Here’s someone who can help you.”

Drake froze. He hadn’t heard them approach.

“We’re moving in,” he heard Crenshaw’s voice in his ear.

Drake smelled the gasoline and came off of the park bench faster than he should have. It spooked the gang members. There were five of them, including Chick. They were in the red and black of the Rips—taken from the name Jack the Ripper. Drake deliberately stumbled and saw them relax a bit.

“Whaddaya want?” he slurred. “Can’t a man get some peace and quiet? I’m tryin’ to sleep.”

“We’re with the neighborhood watch,” the largest man on the left said. He was the one carrying the gas can. He thrust it into Chick’s hands.

Chick took it, but looked down at the can.

“What are ya watchin’ for?” Drake asked, trying not to wince as one of the other gang members lit a cigarette. The gasoline fumes could ignite. Only an idiot would smoke around a gas can. He took a step back, but the gang scented blood—or in this case, smoke—and lunged in.

“Soak him,” the big guy said from behind Drake, grabbing his arms.

Drake rammed his head back, striking the man’s nose as hard as he could. The man let go, clutching his face. Drake followed up with an uppercut and a right cross that put the gang member to the pavement.

“Police! Freeze!” Crenshaw shouted, and the park became alive with cops.

Chick dropped the can. The one with the cigarette ran, but not before letting the cigarette drop to the ground.

Drake stomped on the cigarette and hauled Chick away while the others rounded up the fleeing gang members.

“Don’t hit me, man,” Chick said, cringing. “I wasn’t going to do it.”

“Get the hell out of here. And if I catch you near any Rip or Trix, I’m going to beat the crap out of you.”

“Yes, sir,” Chick said and took off running.

Chapter Twelve

A
fter a long day of seeing patients, Pam took a trip to IKEA. Once the police had given the all-clear signal, the cleaning crew had pretty much fumigated and scrubbed down every inch of her apartment. The locks had been changed while she wandered around the warehouse, stuffed full of Swedish meatballs and feeling carefree. It was over.

She pushed a pallet load of furniture, new drapes, and sheets through the checkout counter and into the truck she’d rented while her car was in the shop for repairs. Thanks to Darren’s warning, she’d managed to save her GPS and her CD collection. Driving back to her apartment, she sang along to the music on the radio until her Bluetooth chirped in that she had a call.

“Hello,” she said, turning off the radio.

“How are you?”

Drake’s voice filled her with warmth and more good cheer. “I’m good. A little tired, but I’m looking forward to a peaceful evening in my freshly cleaned apartment.”

“Want some company?”

“That depends,” she said. “Are you good with your hands?”

“Baby, you know it.”

She laughed, feeling the buzz of desire at his low, growly voice. “I’m just coming back from IKEA. I need help putting some bookshelves together.”

“I knew it. You only want me for my hammer.”

“What can I say? It’s hard to find a man who knows what to do with his tool.”

“You know, I can go on all day like this,” he said.

“I was hoping you can go on all night.”

“What time do you want me? I’m getting in the car now. I was going to make you feed me, but heck with that.”

“I was planning on making some lasagna and a nice salad.”

“Green stuff, huh? You’re not the type to put tofu in lasagna are you?”

“My vegetarian lasagna is world class, but I know better than to serve it on a first date.”

“Technically, this would be a second date.”

“No. Wakes don’t count as dates. Neither does accidentally meeting in a café.”

“Well, normally, I don’t put out on the first date.”

“Neither do I,” she said, smiling so hard that her face was starting to hurt.

“I’ve heard that the third date is the sweet spot. So can’t it be the café was date one, the conference room was date two, and this would be date three?”

“Normally, I’d cry foul because date two was a dreadful day all around.”

“Normally, I’d be surprised that there would be a third date in those circumstances,” he said.

“But this isn’t normal between us.”

“I noticed,” he said. “I suppose you’re going to throw the traumatic bonding flag on this play?”

“I have no idea what you just said,” Pam told him. “Speak English, with less sports metaphors.”

“It’s been a hell of a week.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“We have some great chemistry.”

“I noticed that, too. I was hoping to explore that tonight.”

“So you don’t think the chemistry is because of the experience we’ve had?”

“Oh my Freud, you sound like a head shrinker. Look, party at my place. Pants are optional,” she said.

“I’m in,” he said and hung up.

Pam was still chuckling as she struggled to put everything on the hand truck without dropping something on her foot or losing anything important. A few of her neighbors opened the door for her and helped her get the stuff into the elevator without any further problems.

She had a moment of unease when she put the key in the new lock. Vadim Fomin was still out there. Darren had said he’d take care of him. But what did that mean? Her fingers shook as she turned the lock. It was stiff, but it worked on the first try. The apartment looked sterile and smelled faintly of bleach. Locking the door behind her, she went from room to room. It felt barren, but the fortune she’d paid for the cleaning crew was well worth it. Her clothes had been freshly laundered and folded, and every square inch sparkled. Unfortunately, her bank account was now as empty as her refrigerator. But she had groceries being delivered within the hour, and well, that’s what credit cards were for.

Refusing to dwell on her finances, Pam got to work putting away things and trying to make the apartment a home again. When the doorbell rang, she assumed it was the delivery service. She opened the locks without looking through the peephole.

“I came from work, so I still have my pants on,” Drake said as a way of introduction.

“Oh, you startled me. I thought you were my groceries.” She took the bottle of wine from him and raised her cheek for a kiss, but he frowned and closed the door.

“You should always check before unlocking the door,” he said, locking it.

“I know, I know,” she sighed and walked into the kitchen.

“I mean it. Just because the danger is over doesn’t mean you can get sloppy in your habits.”

She turned around and put her hand over his mouth. “I know. It was a mistake. Let it go.”

“Sorry,” he muttered around her hand and then pulled her into his arms for a passionate smooch.

“That’s more like it,” she breathed when his lips lifted. She was clutching his shoulders because her knees were a little wobbly.

He backed her up toward the counter and lifted her on top of it.

“Drake,” she gasped as he pulled her to him. She wrapped her legs around him as his strong hands rubbed up and down her back.

“Have I mentioned that you are always in my thoughts?” He kissed her chin, tilting her head back so he could ravish her throat.

“Mmmm?” She sighed, breaking the elastic band on his ponytail so his blond curls fell to his shoulder.

“I’m going to get it cut,” he said, going back to her tempting mouth.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she kissed him back.

He was warm and strong. His hands kneading her muscles made her pliant against him. Sweet, long kisses had her tightening her legs to pull him closer to her so she could revel in his heat and hard body.

Sliding his hands up her shirt, she jerked as the raging emotion hit her when he cupped her breast. He thumbed her nipple, and she groaned into his mouth. He backed off, but she held his hand there. Drake slid his mouth to her ear.

“Doorbell,” he muttered.

“What?” she asked and pulled his hair until his mouth covered hers again.

But then she heard it. Someone was at the door.

“Food’s here,” she said weakly, trying to find breath to speak.

“I’ll get it,” he said.

“It’s already paid for. Just sign for it and have him bring it in here.”

“Anything for you, gorgeous.” He gave her one more kiss and then left her breathing heavily, sitting on the counter. Pam put her hands to her cheeks, feeling the flush. She would have let him have her in the kitchen. Heck, she still might. Shaking her head, she slid to her feet and put a hand to her middle. Man, he was potent.

“You!” she heard Drake snarl and then the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

Hurrying out of the kitchen, she saw Drake wrestling with a large bald man. Vadim! She lunged for her purse and called 9-1-1.

“Hello, this is Pam Krupin. I’m at 213 Whixon Street. Apartment 22. Vadim Fomin is fighting with Detective Drake Logan. Please send help.”

“Bitch,” Vadim said. Both men had their weapons out, but each one held the other’s weapon hand in an odd dance.

“Get back in the kitchen,” Drake grunted, the effort from keeping Vadim at bay showing.

The elevator door opened, and the delivery man stepped out, looking very confused. Vadim, snarling in Russian, bodily threw Drake into the man. As Drake landed on the delivery man, Vadim took off through the fire door and down the stairs.

Drake sprang up and went after him.

Shots rang out in the stairwell, causing Pam to scream, but she could still see Drake in the doorway on the landing.

“Damn it,” he said, frustrated. “I told you to get inside.”

“Why did you open the door for him?” Pam shrieked. She bent to help the delivery man up. “Are you all right? The police are on their way.”

“I didn’t look through the peephole,” Drake admitted sheepishly.

Pam gave him an exasperated look and started helping the delivery man pick up her groceries. By the time the officers arrived on the scene and Drake gave them a report and instructions for an extra car to patrol the area overnight, Pam had put the groceries away, boiled the noodles for the lasagna, and was starting to put it together.

Drake came up behind her in the kitchen and rested his head a top hers. His muscled arms held her gently, and it was good to be held.

“I guess it’s not completely over,” she said, chopping the pepperoni. She put the knife down with a thunk. “I had such plans for tonight. I wanted it to be perfect.”

“Hey.” Drake turned her around and tipped her chin up. “I’m not in a rush. Do you think I’m going anywhere?”

Pam gave a half-laugh and hugged him tighter. “What do you think Vadim wanted?”

“I don’t know,” Drake said. “But there’s a warrant out for his arrest now. Assaulting a police officer. And this time, I’m going to keep him in a cage until we find out.”

“I hope he doesn’t have a good lawyer.”

Drake kissed her on the nose. “You keep being a ray of sunshine. I’m going to see if I can put together those bookshelves.”

The bookshelf was lopsided and the lasagna was a little chewy, but the wine and company more than made up for it.

“Thanks for dinner,” Drake said.

“It was the least I could do. You saved my life and built stuff,” Pam said.

He helped her carry the dishes and put them in the dishwasher while she put the leftovers away.

“Hey,” he said, holding both her hands. “I want to stay here tonight. Just to make sure Vadim doesn’t come back. No funny stuff. I’ll camp out on the couch. There’s an
Auction Wars
marathon on television. You’d be doing me a favor. I don’t have cable, so this is a real treat for me.”

He rubbed his thumbs across her knuckles, and electricity arced between them. Like a magnet, she felt pulled to get closer to him. She stopped, fully pressed against him. She liked how his breath quickened at the touch of her body against his. They stood like that, staring into each other’s eyes. His eyes were mesmerizing, and she couldn’t look away when he bent his head and captured her lips in a gentle kiss. Her eyelids fluttered shut when he deepened the kiss, opening his mouth with hers and gliding his tongue inside.

They kissed, and time stopped. The world must have gone on around them, but to Pam, it had narrowed down to the two of them, and nothing else mattered. Her fingers clenched in his at their sides.

“I want this,” she told him. “But you have to know, this isn’t a one-night thing for me. If that’s what you want, then there’s the couch. If you want more, come to bed with me.”

“I want more,” he answered, freeing his fingers to cup her face. “I want you.”

She pulled his hands so he followed her into the bedroom. There, she was suddenly shy.

“They did a good job cleaning it up.”

“Shhh,” he said. “Nothing but good memories in here.”

Sitting on her bed, he kicked off his shoes and lay back. She crept next to him and lay on her side, close enough so their bodies were still touching. Her hand smoothed back his curls as she leaned forward to press eager kisses over his face and neck.

“Oh, Pam,” he groaned, pulling her atop him.

He arched his hips as her pink tongue darted around his earlobe. One hand steadied her atop of him. The other was slowly slipping up her shirt, his fingertips sliding over her satin skin.

“Drake,” she whimpered against his mouth, her fingers tugging off his tie and working the buttons slowly through their holes. She kissed each spot revealed by her nimble fingers.

“Enough,” he said when his shirt was off his shoulders. He turned them both on their sides. He slipped her sweater over her head and traced the outline of her bra with his tongue. She pulled his head back up. Her mouth clung to his as his hands made short work of the clasp and her breasts bounced free. Moaning as the fiery tips of her nipples traced scorching paths across his chest, he held her tighter, grinding his hips into hers.

“You are so soft,” he whispered in her ear.

She nibbled on his neck, his shoulders. Her caressing hands stroked wide circles across his muscular chest.

Drake’s tongue traced a path from the fine curve of her ear, down her neck to the valley between her breasts. He trailed his tongue over each peak of her breasts. She shuddered with each stroke. His unshaven cheek rasped against the sides of her velvet breast. His seeking mouth found her rock hard nipple. He sucked hard on a nipple, making her cry out in pleasure.

Unbuttoning her jeans, he pushed aside the rough material to touch her delicate hip bone. She unbuttoned his pants with shaking hands and reached inside to grab him. He felt like hot satin.

“Wait,” he said, shucking the rest of his clothes. He pulled out a foil packet.

“I hope you brought the economy box and not the three-pack,” Pam said and helped him slip the sheath on.

“You just might be the perfect woman,” he breathed as she guided him inside her.

Pleasure stole her breath, and the witty response she was going to say fled as his deep thrusts carried her away on sensations to powerful to voice. His rhythm had her clenching around him with desperate cries.
You,
she thought,
and only you.

The next moment, she was on top of him, her head thrown back as she rode astride him.
This,
she thought as his touch made her frenzied against the friction their bodies were generating,
and only this.

He flipped her on her back. She was bent nearly in half as Drake drove himself into her. She was gasping his name as emotion choked her. Each stroke of him teased her to madness until she dug her fingers into his arms and held on as her orgasm quaked through her. His beautiful eyes were passion-glazed, and he murmured sweet love words to her in Russian.

“There, baby. Oh, honey. You feel amazing, Pam.” His voice was reverent, and when he released, his whole body shook and mini tremors racked them both.

“Wow,” Pam said and idly played with his long curls as they lay facing each other. His hands slid up and down the curve of her hip. “You lost the ability to speak English.”

He chuffed a laugh and went back to nuzzling her. “You take my breath away. Come here, my beautiful woman, and I will make you babble to me in Russian.”

And he did—two more times that night.