Submission Page 7

  I took in the skinny guy; his ribs sticking out under his vest; his thin, tattooed arms; his quasi-Mohawk haircut. If that was the kind of guy Molly went for, the bartender could have her.

  I looked down at myself. What was I talking about? I was reasonably sure she was attracted to me—and I was the type of guy not even I would date if I had been so inclined.

  Molly was showing Rafe the picture of my sisters and me.

  “You a cop?” the woman on the other side of me asked.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you are.” She swung toward me, revealing a jagged hole in her fishnet stockings that I wasn’t altogether sure was an accident. Especially given the large silver safety pins holding the middle of the snag together. “I lost my handcuffs. How much to buy yours?”

  I stared at her.

  “Got it,” Molly said, appearing at my side.

  She got back up onto the stool, muddling my concentration. “Got what?”

  “The name of the guy your sister’s seeing.”

  I wasn’t sure, but I think I growled at her. Just imagining my baby sister with someone like the kook behind the bar made my skin crawl.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said, grasping her upper arm.

  The feel of her soft, fragrant skin under my fingers gave me pause. She smelled of gardenias.

  She shrugged off my touch, but not before I caught a subtle shiver.

  “We left the last place so quickly I didn’t get a chance to enjoy my drink.” She waved her empty glass at Rafe. “Another, please,” she said when he came right over.

  “Immediately.”

  I picked up my empty glass an instant too late and was forced to watch as Molly accepted a fresh drink while I went without.

  “On the house,” the bartender said.

  I was feeling out of my element. And I didn’t much like that.

  Molly turned back to me. “Her boyfriend’s name is Matthew Paulson. And neither of them has been around for about four or five days. Do you know anything about him?”

  I grimaced. “I didn’t even know Zoe was seeing anyone.”

  “Oh, and they don’t call her Zoe here. She goes by the name Fawn.”

  “Fawn?” As in deer? Why would she have another name?

  “From what I understand, everyone in the place has another name they go by. Matthew is called Paulie.”

  “My name’s Thor,” my new friend on the other side of Molly said.

  I stared at him while Molly thrust her hand out. “Hi, Thor. I’m Molly and this is Alan.”

  Now she was getting friendly with the natives.

  “You don’t look like a Molly to me.” The kid scrunched up his face. “If I had to give you a name, I’d say Siren.”

  “Why Siren?”

  “You know, from Greek mythology.” The guy grinned, revealing a mouthful of great teeth his parents had probably paid a fortune for. “Because you’re enough woman to bring down any man.”

  “Jesus,” I said under my breath. “Can we get out of here now?”

  Molly ignored me. “What about him?” she asked Thor, waving her thumb in my direction.

  The girl on my other side perked up. “Rourke,” she said. “You know, after that actor who used to be a boxer and who’s an actor again.”

  I glared at the girl.

  Molly laughed.

  “Not as he is now,” she said. “Back in the beginning of his career, you know, when he was a real hottie. ’Cause he’s a lot older than you now. I mean, you’re kinda old but not that old, right?”

  I wondered if I could arrest her on suspicion of criminal stupidity.

  I was saved from a response by the vibrating of my cell phone. I fished it out of my inside coat pocket and looked at the display. Home, it read.

  I stepped away from Molly and answered.

  “Alan? Is that you? God, I can barely hear you.”

  Emilie.

  “Hold on a sec.”

  I told Molly I was going outside, then stepped out onto the curb. That move alone slashed the volume of the music in half.

  “Yeah?” I said, putting the phone back to my ear.

  “I just wanted to find out if you’ve turned up anything yet.”

  I looked back inside the bar, where Molly was conversing with the girl who’d tried to buy my handcuffs. “Yeah. I got a line on her boyfriend.”

  “Good.”

  “You don’t sound surprised she’s seeing someone.”

  “She’s been seeing someone for a month or so.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because she wouldn’t tell me what his name was or anything about him, that’s why. I figured it would be best for you to find out on your own.”

  I rubbed my forehead, wondering what else my sisters were leaving out. And what else lay in store for me. “Yeah, thanks.”

  When I closed the phone a few moments later, I turned to find Molly standing outside the club, leaning against the front of the building. Her arms were crossed under her breasts, her legs were crossed at the ankles, and she was looking at me like…

  Hell, I don’t know. Like she’d seen something about me that had surprised her. Something she apparently liked, if her smile was anything to go by.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  I was uncomfortable with her attention, so I began walking. She walked with me. “Emilie knew Zoe was seeing someone, but she didn’t know who.”

  “And Emilie is…?”

  “The oldest. Zoe’s the youngest. And Laure is the middle sister.”

  She nodded, and I allowed her to set a leisurely stride down the promenade. Around us costumed people moved, bars thumped with both jazz and contemporary music, laughter rang. But somehow it felt as if none of it existed. I could still hear the click-click of her heels as if we were walking alone. I could smell her sweet scent as clearly as if I had my nose pressed against the curve of her neck.

  I wanted her so badly I ached with it.

  Stuffing my hands deep into the pockets of my overcoat, I concentrated on the walkway ahead of us.

  “So,” she said quietly. “Where to next?”

  I jumped when I felt her hand slide around my arm, casually tucking itself between my elbow and waist.

  She laughed quietly. “You’re wound up.”

  She had no idea.

  I slowed my steps, then stopped altogether. She moved so that she was in front of me, looking at me as if waiting to hear what I had to say.

  And what did I have to say?

  Her blue eyes were soft and open. Her pink lips all too kissable. She was unlike anything I’d ever seen before and hadn’t known I wanted to see. She wasn’t the naughty type of girl you took home for a one-night stand. She was the proper type you took home to mother. Yet I wanted to do things to her that had nothing to with proper and everything to do with soft moans and bare skin.

  “Wait,” she said quietly, shifting her weight from one of her sexily clad feet to the other. “Before you send me back to my hotel, I just want to do one thing.”

  I waited. “What?”

  “This.” And then she was kissing me.

  BOURBON AND A HEAT SO hot it nearly seared her flesh. That’s what Molly tasted the instant she pressed her lips against Alan’s.

  She wasn’t entirely certain why she’d done what she had. All she knew was that right now, right at this moment, she felt like more of a woman than she’d felt in a very long time. Certainly since well before the death of her sister, when all color seemed to have been leached from her life.

  And the man responsible for making her feel that way was this one standing in the middle of the sidewalk, kissing her.

  Yes, she realized, melting against him like a sigh. He was kissing her.

  It wasn’t so much anything he’d said. From the moment their eyes had met at the Gas Lantern and he’d reacted possessively when she’d been asked to dance to the instant she’d seen the want in his eyes whe
n he’d turned to find her waiting for him just now, his actions had spoke to her more intimately than any words. And she was so tuned in to them that she’d wanted her own actions to do the same…so she’d kissed him.

  At first she’d been afraid he might push her away. She got the impression that despite how he might feel, he was determined to keep her at arm’s length. Perhaps because of their roles, his as lead detective on her sister’s case, hers as the twin sister of a murder victim. But as the hands on the clock budged around the dial, she was coming to understand that there was something more to his desire to keep her away. Something deeper and darker that drew her into its shadows.

  Molly’s hands moved to his chest, then down between the flaps of his trench coat. She slid her fingers inside, then around his waist, feeling heat warm her every cell even though she hadn’t been cold. Despite his rumpled appearance, she felt rock-hard muscle beneath the cotton and was helpless to stop herself from tugging his shirt from the back of his slacks and pressing her fingertips to his taut skin. She heard his breath catch at the same time as he deepened their kiss.

  She was distantly aware that he was moving them from the middle of the sidewalk, but didn’t understand where until she felt the solid wall of a building against her back. The moment she leaned against it, he pressed his hard length against her and she gasped, grabbing hold of him tightly. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him. His tongue against hers. His lips. The rasp of his stubble against her skin. His hands moving from her waist down over her hips, then back again, as if eager for a more intimate exploration but somehow holding himself in check, knowing where they were and what was appropriate. Although in this decadent city she got the impression that not a whole lot was inappropriate.

  She snuggled inside his coat again, reveling in the feel of him so close. She ran her hands restlessly up and down his back—then froze when her fingers hit a hardness she hadn’t anticipated. The metal of his gun in its holster around his left shoulder.

  He must have picked up on her hesitation because he reluctantly removed his mouth and leaned his forehead against hers.

  “This is crazy,” he said, grinding out the words as if battling unseen demons.

  She nodded and removed her hands. For one sweet moment she’d allowed herself to forget who he was, who she was, and for the first time since she’d learned of Claire’s death had allowed herself the luxury of forgetting that her sister was gone.

  He shifted to move away, but for a reason she couldn’t fathom, she held tight.

  “Please. Not yet,” she murmured, closing her eyes, not caring if she looked desperate or clingy. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve felt this kind of connection to another person.”

  10

  THERE WERE A FEW THINGS a living, breathing male wasn’t equipped to resist. And at the top of the list was a beautiful woman who smelled like sin and who wanted to be touched.

  I swallowed thickly and slid my hands from Molly’s lush hips to wrap them around her waist. She felt so good, tucked against my body just so, that I didn’t want the moment to end, either. My throbbing erection rested against her trembling stomach, making me want far more, but I restrained myself. Something I wasn’t used to doing. It had been a long, long time since I hadn’t taken the next natural step and suggested that the two of us retire to my apartment. And while I wasn’t entirely sure why I was resisting now, I knew in my gut that it was the right thing to do. No matter how enticing her breasts felt pressed against my chest. Or how damn inviting she smelled and felt.

  I knew that if I wanted, I could have her. Walk her back to her hotel nearby and seduce my way into her bed and between her soft thighs. But some invisible force held me back. Her reaction a moment ago, when she’d accidentally made contact with my police-issue firearm, had shuddered through me as surely as if I was the one who’d had a cold bucket of reality dumped over my head.

  I felt her hands move from where they were plastered against my back. Her fingertips worked their way under the hem of my shirt and touched my bare skin. I hissed a breath.

  “Decide, Molly. Because in two seconds I’m afraid that decision will be taken from us.”

  Her fingers stilled and her head shifted from where her cheek rubbed against mine. She looked deep into my eyes.

  “I want you,” she whispered. “But I’m not sure if I should have you. I…You…I don’t know. Everything’s so confused right now.”

  Tell me about it.

  But crystal clear was the fact that she was right—sleeping together probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do right now. I still had the unfortunate situation with Captain Hodge’s wife hovering over my head like a guillotine waiting to sever me from a career I’d spent more than ten years building. To sleep with the sister of a murder victim—especially such a high-profile victim of the Quarter Killer—would be inviting even more trouble.

  Molly licked her lips slowly and I groaned.

  Screw trouble.

  I bent my head and kissed her again.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING Molly woke with a start, alone in her bed, her skin covered in sweat.

  She reached out to crowd the free pillow close to her chest, wishing that she—that both she and Alan—had given themselves over to the molten desire that had filled them both the night before. But just when it had looked as if he might follow her inside her room after walking her back to the hotel, he had kissed her a final time and said good-night instead.

  She closed her eyes and attempted to calm the erratic beating of her heart, her mind going to the dream that had awakened her. Rather, the nightmare. Her unsettled subconscious mind had taken up where she and Alan had left off, and they’d made love all over her hotel room, no place safe from their need for each other.

  Then she’d been lying naked, with her head lolling over the foot of the bed, as Alan had slid into her to the hilt. At the same time as she’d climaxed, a big dark cloud had appeared where Alan’s face had been and she’d felt a cold knife slice through the flesh of her neck.

  Molly lifted a hand to the area in question as another image came to mind. A memory this time. She and Claire had been fourteen, full of teenage angst, lying across the double bed they’d shared in a rented trailer near the Michigan border. One side of the double bed had been flush against the paneled wall, and she’d been the one to sleep there, using the wall to prop up whatever book she was reading.

  Have you ever thought about death? Claire had asked, lying in the opposite direction so that her feet were next to Molly’s head. Her sister had been leafing through a teen fanzine while Molly had been reading a tattered copy of Wuthering Heights she’d checked out of the school library.

  Claire had sighed and performed the wiggling act required to roll over in the narrow space. I mean, beyond wanting to poison the latest jerk Mom brings home.

  That was why they’d been in their room. Because their mother had come home from a nearby bar with another guy whose name no one would remember next week.

  I guess so, Molly had answered, her attention stolen from Heathcliff’s musings. Why?

  I don’t know. I mean, ever since Grandma died and all, I’ve been wondering what it’s like. And thinking about all the ways it can happen. She’d shuddered. I think being strangled would be the worst.

  That’s murder, Molly had pointed out.

  Yes, but you still die.

  Molly had considered what she’d said and stared at the ceiling, where her sister had taped pictures of Madonna and the Backstreet Boys. I think drowning would be the worst way to go.

  Claire had lifted up onto her elbows and stared at her. Oh, my God. You’re right. That would be the absolute worst. I mean, when you’re underwater, time must seem to drag on forever.

  Molly wasn’t sure what made her remember that day so long ago. The topic of death, perhaps. And the fact that for some godforsaken reason her sister had been obsessed with the subject matter. Not just on the day she’d remembered; rather it seemed to have been a
n ongoing obsession with Claire, similar conversations periodically taking place over the years.

  Until death had finally claimed her.

  Molly shivered and forced herself out of bed although it was barely dawn. After showering and getting dressed, she pulled the box containing Claire’s things on top of the bed again and methodically took the items out and laid them down one by one. She’d honored the same routine since arriving in the city and claiming the belongings. She kept hoping that something would pop out at her, something that would help her finally lay Claire to rest.

  IF I’D BEEN IN BAD shape yesterday morning, I was in even worse shape today. I told myself it was because of the bottle of bourbon I’d turned to after turning Molly away. But the truth was that the damn woman remained with me even after I’d left her at her hotel room. She was there when I closed my eyes and when I opened them. I knew a sense of longing so pronounced that it was almost difficult to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

  But forging ahead, concentrating on the job rather than the woman, was exactly what I had to do.

  Pounding the pavement, checking with snitches and going over and over the same ground again was part of the job. A part I sometimes hated. Then again, if a case was easy to solve, it usually meant that not everything was as it appeared. Along the lines of “If it looks too good to be true, it probably is.” Case in point: my arrest of Claude Lafitte for the murder of Molly’s sister. He’d been at the scene of the crime, had taken FBI agent Akela Brooks hostage and had run with her when NOPD officers had tried to take him into custody.

  Everything had been so neat, so tidy—and it had been so far off base that the already shaky foundation of my career had begun to crumble around the edges.

  After a morning of dead ends I slapped another file down on top of my desk in the middle of Robbery/Homicide division’s bullpen, then reached out to keep the pile from toppling off as I sat down. My head felt a heartbeat away from exploding, and my throat was raw.

  “You don’t look so good.”