Gomez steps back and gestures for me to precede him. It’s stupid to not want him at my back. If they wanted to hurt me, it would have happened by now. I walk out with my head held high. We’re on the second floor at the end of a long walkway that has black metal decorative railing on one side and overlooks the room below. The floors are polished red Spanish tile, the walls painted different earth tones with alcoves accented by recessed lights to display the art. Not just paintings, but statues and pottery too. Way out of my blue-collar league.
There are six doors along the hallway, and I glance back noticing the double doors behind me at the end farthest from the stairs. I have no doubt whose room that is. I need to get out of here quickly.
The staircase is long and winding—something you see in old movies about the Deep South. The wall along the staircase contains more eclectic art. I’ve never been an artsy person, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that it’s expensive. I try not to fall down the stairs as I take in Moon’s home. The main floor consists of a large entryway opening to a huge room, which the second story walkway overlooks. A comfortable-looking seating area with a white couch and two chairs takes up the space in the center of the room. Throw pillows in orange, red, blue, and green add a splash of color. A large white faux fur rug separates the furniture, and a glass table rests on the rug between the couch and chairs. The table displays additional color by way of a large pottery bowl. An ostentatious chandelier with hundreds of lights hangs over the table. I love the way the colors offset the look of the pristine furniture.
The wall directly beneath the second story landing has three sets of double white doors. Toward the back of the house, there’s a double, or maybe triple, hallway. That’s as far as I can see. The house, with all its showcased hanging artwork, lighting, and accent pieces, could be a museum.
Who actually lives this way?
A very wealthy head of a crime syndicate, I remind myself.
I’m standing at the bottom of the stairs gaping at everything around me. Gomez waits patiently. I suddenly realize what I’m doing and feel like an idiot. Gomez waves his hand toward the front door when I turn and face him. I precede him again, my shoes making a soft pitter patter against the tile. He reaches around me and I jerk my hand back from the door handle when he opens it. Heat instantly envelops me as I take the first step outside. I also realize how cool it was inside and know the monthly electric bill is most likely more than all my expenses combined.
I stand at the top of the steps leading down from the front door and stare like a fool again. Luscious foliage mixed with desert landscaping is divided by a circular drive made of unpolished but no less beautiful Spanish tile. The driveway wraps around a twenty-foot high fountain that shoots torrents of water into the air. The spray doesn’t lower the outside temperature, but it adds a cool vibe and a mental picture of a desert oasis. The image is ruined when I peer past the fountain and notice the high white-washed brick walls and I’m reminded of whose property this is.
Gomez steps around me, walks to a black Cadillac, and opens the back door. Approaching the car helps me put this entire episode into perspective. Four men pointing guns in a deadly situation where I ended up unconscious is not a pretty picture. I quickly fold myself inside the car and notice the immediate drop in temperature. The Caddy’s been running with its air conditioning on while I took my sweet time. I’m sure Moon doesn’t need to worry about engines overheating, coolant running out, or God forbid engine fires like the rest of us Phoenicians.
Gomez opens the driver’s door and a short blast of hot air enters before he closes it. I buckle up without getting burned by the usual hot metal of a Phoenix summer seatbelt. Relief should be my friend as we drive through the tall gates and leave Moon’s compound. No, the inside doesn’t look like a compound, but I need to keep that perspective. I touch the back of my head as a mild ache continues pounding through my brain. Sadly, the pain has nothing to do with the sense of loss that settles over me. I keep my gaze forward and look through the dark, smoky windshield refusing to look back.
The Valley of the Sun, as Phoenix and the surrounding cities are known, is a sprawling metropolis of black asphalt and mostly one- or two-story buildings. The high-rise, big city atmosphere can be found downtown and takes up about forty square blocks total. That’s a pin in a map compared to the rest of the city.
Gomez doesn’t ask directions as he navigates the streets. We circumvent the inner city, and Gomez enters the freeway a few miles from Moon’s home. I sit back and pull in a long slow breath of air.
“My car,” I say without thinking. I totally forgot about my car, which is parked in the underground garage one level up from where I caught Dandridge with his pants unzipped. And I don’t have my keys.
“It’s been moved to your designated parking spot at your apartment.”
Is there nothing Moon forgets? My police training kicks in again and I decide to get some answers. “So what exactly is your title?” I ask.
“Title?”
I have no intention of being vague. “Within Moon’s organization.”
“Hmm.” He pauses.
I can’t see his slight smirk, but I sense it. His eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses, which I glare at in the rearview mirror. He’s giving nothing away.
Just when I think he won’t answer, he speaks up. “I’m Moon’s bodyguard and friend. Do those titles work for you?” he finally replies.
It’s my turn to say, “Hmm,” and then forge ahead. “How long have you been friends?”
His response is quicker this time. “I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.” He lets the words hang as I consider if I want to play this game.
“Give me the first question and I’ll decide.”
I receive his gravelly chuckle. “Okay, Miss Kinlock, you’re on. Why did you go into private investigations after leaving your department?”
I don’t like his question because I hate thinking about it. Of course, that doesn’t keep me from thinking about it three or four times a day. “That’s a rather private question.” I say in order to give myself time to decide if I’m willing to answer.
His voice turns slightly playful. “So is the length of my friendship with Moon.”
I don’t like doing the buddy–buddy thing with a thug. I think about my answer and finally come up with, “I’m good at it.”
He shakes his head. “Try answering the question.”
I give a heavy sigh so he thinks he’s won. “I had bills to pay, no other job prospects, and I was qualified.” It’s only half the answer, but it’s the one he’s getting.
“That’s not all of it.” We both remain silent as a minute passes, and I refuse to add more. “Okay, you win. I’ll let you slide,” he finally says. “With your looks and body there are a lot of other things you could have done and it would earn you a hell of a lot more money.”
He has now pushed the buttons that take me from a mild-mannered person to pissed off in 0.002 seconds. Why is it, when I bring up the subject of a career with men, they tend to consider what I could do with a body “like yours”? They seem to think if you have large tits, respectable work isn’t your only option. My last not-quite boyfriend got dumped for voicing his opinion on that matter. The thought of a girlfriend being an exotic dancer didn’t bother him. After this eye-opening conversation, I never saw that particular not-quite boyfriend again. I grit my teeth at his memory. He was one of a long line of losers I tend to choose. Pain flashes behind my eyes and I relax my jaw before snipping at Gomez, “Says the bodyguard of the biggest pimp in the Southwest.” There, take that, asshole.
His voice drops an octave. “Relax, sweetie. Whatever you’re thinking isn’t what I’m thinking.”
Sweetie, the nerve. I give him silence for the next five minutes. Then, because I want personal information, I ask, “So your employer doesn’t smile often, does he?” Most people will smile to relieve the anxiety of those around them. Not Moon. The more nervous I became, the more his regard intensified.
“Ha,” Gomez bursts out. “Moon’s smiles are rare. He intimidates by being his usual broody self. I’ve worked on his charm techniques for years with no luck.” Gomez’s head cocks a little and I know he’s looking at me again. “You eventually grow accustomed to it.”
Interesting. I can usually size someone up fairly quickly. I couldn’t peg Moon. Gomez, on the other hand, comes across as lighthearted with a touch of playboy. He hides his true colors with congeniality. Do not forget gorgeous. The man gives Moon a run for his money. The problem is—Gomez is intense in a different way than Moon is. Nothing gets past him and that’s why he’s Moon’s bodyguard. He’s someone you don’t want to meet in a dark alley. I may have stood up to him in the parking garage but I was caught between a rock and a hard place and sometimes you have no choice.
“We were placed in the same crib as babies.” He says, which surprises me. There’s a slight change in his tone. He’s either telling me more than he actually wanted to or it’s meant to sucker me into more Q and A’s. I’m done with the game. Sometimes you need to take what little information you have and stop there.
My refusal to comment turns the rest of the ride to long and boring.
My apartment is in the northwest valley by an old high school that once had two acres of rolling grass where students sat and ate lunch. A few years ago, the grass was changed to the customary desert landscaping—rocks—and now high fences separate the school from the road. Passing through a metal detector is also required to enter the building. I never worked this district as a cop. In Phoenix, you don’t live where you work. You travel as far as possible. The last thing you want is to run into someone undesirable when off duty. Home should be your sanctuary. I, like most city officers, varied my route when leaving the department and heading home. You always check to be sure you aren’t followed. It’s the life of a cop and these lessons begin at the academy.Gomez pulls into my apartment complex, which is kitty-corner from the school. He travels toward the back and I wonder if he helped return my car. The clock on the dash shows it’s been more than five hours since I took dick pics of Mr
It doesn’t matter that Moon woke me every hour; I’m a new person in the morning. All his texts but the last were on point and only asked if I was okay. The last one is making me grit my teeth, and this time it doesn’t hurt. aka Criminal Tonight, dinner. My reply is again short and to the point. No. aka Criminal I’ll pick you up at seven. My growl is louder than the one Gomez gave me. If Moon thinks I’ll be here at seven, he’s insane. Am I running away? Damn straight and that pisses me off even more. I don’t run away from trouble, I run toward it. But this trouble is of an entirely different nature. It’s colossal trouble with a capital T. I hit the shower again. This is what we do in the Valley of the Sun. We cool down in a shower at least twice a day and sometimes more. Hitting the pool counts too. Practically everyone has their own swimming pool or access to one. I plan to work out this afternoon after I’ve finished the business with Penny Dandridge, and I’ll shower again bef
Terry’s office door is closed, which offers another clue. “Spill it, lady,” I say to Brenda. “He’s in there with his attorney.” She points toward Terry’s door. I’m stunned. “Attorney at Law Terry the Fairy has an attorney?” Her grin widens at the use of Terry’s nickname. She has worked for Terry for more than ten years. I like her, even though she carries true affection for Terry. In my opinion, he doesn’t deserve her. This, however, does not mean she lacks a sense of humor. “Apparently, he took the wrong woman for a ride and she’s filed a lawsuit and made a complaint to the state bar.” I don’t like Terry, but I’ve never heard that he forces women. A lawsuit means she wants money. Now, I get the humor. Filing a lawsuit for something outrageous is something Terry would do. Today, he’s getting back some of his own medicine. “I’m dying to ask what he did, but I’m almost afraid.” She bites her lip before releasing it and replies, “I’m horrible for even smiling.” She laughs into her
“Exactly.” Terry steeples his fingers on the desk. “You know there’s a good chance this isn’t bullshit, Mak.” So many things whirl through my head. I do not like Craig Kennedy, never have. He has his own code as far as street ethics are concerned. I was warned early in my police career to stay clear of him. That was before he made my life a nightmare whenever he was around. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. No, I wouldn’t go out with him. No, I wouldn’t let him cop a feel, and no, I wouldn’t fuck him. I refused to date the cops I worked with is what I told him. And especially not married cops like Kennedy. Just no! When I finally threatened to go to a supervisor, he backed off and gave me the stare-down whenever he could. I’d just roll my eyes. I heard rumors from other officers that Kennedy walked a thinner blue line than the rest of us or that he often straddled it. Most of these rumors related to him getting aggressive during arrests. I stayed out of the gossip and away from Ken
I blast through my workout in record time and head back to my apartment for a quick shower. After washing my hair, lathering all my body parts, and drying myself, I take an hour to style my hair, apply makeup, and doll myself up for Fiddlers Bar and Grill. It’s located outside Sunnyslope’s Wendell district and outside the Cactus police district. It’s also where both groups of cops gather in plain clothes to unwind. I want to look my best and get a feel for what’s happening in the blue world. I park Sally in the side lot with five other vehicles and enter the dark and cool interior of the bar. After completely ignoring the sign on the door that reads: No Guns Permitted, I take a booth in the back corner. I guarantee everyone in here is carrying and not just the cops. I scout out the crowd and see only a few vaguely familiar faces. The majority of the police crowd will start drifting in shortly. I came a bit early so I could take the back booth and see who enters the bar. The cops I k
He’s certifiably crazy. Through gritted teeth, I warn, “I don’t like repeating myself and I won’t press charges if you leave. Now.” His smile disappears. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, pull your gun.” I close my eyes in frustration and then realize what I’ve done and open them again. My gun isn’t the problem; his damned guns aka ripped arms, are. No one involved in crime should have a body like Moon’s. His cologne drifts over me and I inhale deeply. Somehow he’s found that perfect match that accents his natural man-smell. Add in his blue eyes, which capture everything going on around him, and I’m having heart palpitations that have nothing to do with my apartment being broken into. I pull in another long breath to gain a small semblance of control. I’m unwilling to stand and point a damn gun at him now, and that pisses me off. He removes his cell from his pocket, backs a couple of feet away, and speaks to whoever’s on the other end. “Order for two from El Tiempo and pick
The chime of Moon’s phone stops him from answering my question. He places his glass on the small side table, twists up a bit, and takes his cell from his pocket. He checks the screen and like a teenage pro, sends a message. He looks up at me after sending it. “Alex is here with our food.” At the thought of El Tiempo, my stomach rumbles. Moon cocks an eyebrow. Hell even that’s sexy. I stand up when I hear a soft knock at my front door. “Sit. I’ll get it and bring everything over here,” he says as he heads to my door, like he owns it, and opens it for Gomez. Moon takes the food and I see Gomez peer at me over Moon’s shoulder. I can’t identify the exact look he gives me, and I tell myself that I don’t care. So what if Gomez is impressed with the way I handle myself. That and a dollar will buy me an ice-cold Slurpee. Moon closes the door with his elbow while holding the bag in one hand and a six-pack of Corona in the other. It reminds me that I was being observed inside the bar. It’s s
I stare at the dark television for ten minutes. This solves nothing. I check the sliding glass door that leads to my very small patio. It has a broken broomstick in the bottom rail so it can only slide open after removing it. The locking mechanism, which I check too, is a piece of crap. I head to the front door and lock it. I walk to my bedroom to go through my pre-sleep ritual. After a quick shower, I slip into one of my large shapeless tees. Brushing, flossing and moisturizer are next. I lie down in bed and turn off the lamp. When I close my eyes, I picture Moon—his reticent smile, his intense eyes, and his sexy as hell bod. My girl parts are ramped up and it’s all Moon’s fault. With a groan, I roll over and grab the purple wonder from the drawer beside my bed. I hit the switch and then lift and spread my knees. I place the vibration against my clit. The purple wonder twirls and vibrates, hitting the spot perfectly. I slide it through my folds and back to my clit while imagining Mo