Dark Taste of Rapture (31 page)

N
OELLE STROLLED INTO DALLAS’S
apartment as if she owned it. In a way, she did. The building belonged to her family. Hell, half the buildings in the city belonged to her family. A reason to gloat, sure, but she never cracked a smile.

She was in too volatile a mood.

When Hector hadn’t called or swung by to pick her up, as she thought she remembered him promising to do before he left her place last night, she’d assumed they were supposed to meet at AIR. So, after dressing in a tantalizing ensemble sure to entice him, off she’d gone, arriving bright and early and eager to see the man who’d given her such a glorious orgasm. Only to wait. And wait.

He was a good agent, and an even stronger, more dangerous man, so when he failed to show there, she hadn’t worried for his health. She’d simply assumed his own mind-blowing orgasm had made him lazy and he’d slept in.

Hoping to wake him, she phoned him—no answer.
No big deal, though. He’d probably turned off his ringer. She’d driven to his home, a middle-class house in the center of suburban paradise. She’d looked forward to seeing him surrounded by his things, getting a tour of the place. Maybe kissing each other hello. But he hadn’t answered the door.

At that point, she’d begun to fume. Where was he? What was he doing?

She’d broken in.

His furniture was plain but well cared for, his bedroom neat and tidy. There’d been no personal touches anywhere, and that had surprised her. He really did keep himself distanced from everyone.

Last night he’d made an exception for her, but he must have changed his mind, because clearly he’d ditched her like yesterday’s news. His badge, gone. His pyre, gone. Which meant they were with him. Which meant, he was on the job. Without Noelle.

Mia Snow was a smart woman, had known Bobby’s identity before Hector and Noelle ever made it to the scene. After all, one of the cops would have IDed him before calling AIR. Dealing with the rich was often difficult, and Noelle could help in ways Hector hadn’t realized. Yet he’d rather go it alone than deal with her.

Well, he would soon learn that wasn’t even a possibility.

She’d headed back to AIR to hack into the GPS database and find his location, planning to show up and knock the shit out of him. Along the way, the PI she’d hired to document Cherry Picking Barry’s every
move for the rest of his unnatural life had emailed her a string of photos.

Hector had stopped by Barry’s office. Hector had beaten the ever-loving hell out of him.

Hector had somewhat redeemed himself.

However, white knight or not, the beating hadn’t earned him a free pass. He had a lot to answer for. Now, however, she’d use words rather than steel-toed boots.

Dallas, Hector, and hello, gorgeous Devyn Targon were on their feet, watching her with differing amounts of astonishment as she sailed inside the living room. Dallas was wearing a wrinkled T-shirt and jeans, his dark hair in complete disarray around his model-perfect face.

The sight of Devyn, warrior king of the Targons, had her sighing dreamily. As always, he was a walking fantasy. His hair was dark and glossy, while his skin possessed the radiant sheen of crushed diamonds. And his eyes, oh, his eyes were the color of the richest, most decadent brandy.

He wasn’t ignorant of his appeal. He’d be the first to tell you exactly how magnificent he was. Actually, no. Not true. Anything female would be the first to tell you. He’d be a close second.

He wore a pinstriped suit tailored specifically for his spectacular body, not a wrinkle or flaw in sight. His silky brown hair was styled away from his face, ensuring his amber eyes were perfectly framed, and his crushed diamond skin on full display.

At one time, he would have made her mouth water.
Same with Dallas. Over the last year, she’d developed an obsession for raw intensity.

Finally, her gaze moved to Hector. His hair looked even longer today, a glossy jet, with the occasional strand of flax. He wore a black T-shirt, black slacks, and both paid his bad-boy muscles the proper homage. His dark brows were drawn low, his golden eyes narrowed. Thick lashes fused together and cast spiky shadows over cheeks flushed with growing … anger? Probably.

Fuck you, Hector
. Back to his pissy, distant self, regretting what they’d done. Whatever. He’d made his bed, and now he could lie in it. Alone.

“Morning, boys. I’m happy to see you, too. Oh, goody. Coffee.” She grabbed the cup resting on the table and sipped. Grimaced. “Gross! What is this crap? Because it’s definitely
not
coffee.”

“We took turns peeing in the cup,” Hector snapped.

Non-deserved hostility was always a party in a box. “Well, your piss needs cream and sugar.” Wishing she had a shot of bleach for her mouth, she placed the cup back on the table.

“Too good to drink what the rest of us drink?” Dallas muttered. A night apart hadn’t improved his mood, either. Wonderful.

“Yes, actually, I am.” Her taste buds were not snotty; they just knew the difference between good and nasty as hell.

Hector shoved his gloved hands in his pockets. “What are you doing here?”

“Now, now. Is that any way to talk to your
partner
?”

He blanched.

That’s when she knew beyond any doubt that he wanted to do this without her, despite the passion they’d shared. Hurt bloomed. Rather than give in to it, she raised her chin. “Dallas offered to take me to sexual heaven, and since I wasn’t busy, I decided to let him.”

“Sexual … heaven …” Hector nearly popped a vessel in his forehead. His gaze swept over her body. The deep V of her thin white top, with a silver chain hanging seductively between her breasts, the tightness of her black leather pants.

Dallas gulped, paled.

Devyn had already lost interest in her and was playing some kind of game on his phone.

“He tell you boys the same thing and you’re expecting all kinds of pleasure? Should we just get in line?” she asked, then strode to the couch, about to scoot herself between the two very hard D’s. That way, she’d have a straight-shot view of Hector’s face. And his emotions. “Or am I interrupting some kind of male bonding ritual?”

“Don’t sit there!” Hector shouted.

She froze, her pulse points even skittering to a stop. He hadn’t sounded angry or even jealous; he’d sounded frightened. “Uh, okay.” Unsure, she straightened. “Why?”

He ignored the question and pointed to the chair adjacent to him. Miles from the D’s, it seemed. “Sit there.”

After the way he’d treated her, she should flip him off and throw herself across Dallas and Devyn’s laps.
Only Hector’s terror stopped her. That terror struck her and spread quickly. With forced casualness, she ambled to the chair he’d “reserved” for her and flopped down.

She peered over at him. He watched her as intensely as when he’d had his face between her legs, trying to judge her reaction. Heat slithered across her skin, and her belly quivered.

Don’t think about that magic tongue of his
. She’d only want more from him. Want everything. Like sex in the shower to ease his fears about burning her. Not that she’d been thinking of ways to do that all fucking night.

He’d made his intentions clear. Romantically, they were done. He’d opted to let his fears rule him and that was fine.
Whatever
, she told herself again. She refused to beg for every scrap of his attention and affection.

“You’re going to learn to include me,” she told him. “This is my job, too, and there’s nothing you can do to get rid of me.”
Try again, and I’ll gut you
.

A play of emotions in those beautiful golden eyes. An increase of terror, a blend of relief, joy, even shame. “It’d be better if we worked separately.”

No mercy
. “That’s not happening,” she said, as soft as she was able. “So let me help you kick things off. Why don’t you tell me what you found at Bobby’s house?”

One of his hands emerged to tug at his shirt collar. “How’d you know I was there?”

“I know all kinds of things.”

Several heartbeats of silence. “Did you know he was married?”

She frowned. “No. He was married?”

An abrupt nod.

“You’re sure?” Bobby had never hinted about being part of a committed relationship. Although his lack of dating might have been hint enough.

Another nod from Hector. He glanced at Dallas before pinning her with a resolved stare. “Wife was there, hiding. I picked up a handheld from his office, talked to her. She seemed genuinely upset by his death, genuinely surprised.”

“Genuine can be faked, I promise you.” Her implication: just like I faked it last night.

He popped his jaw, shrugged as if he didn’t care what she’d done. “Her name is Margarete. She’s Rakan, and I don’t know how they met. I—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Devyn said, suddenly interested in the conversation. “You told us the wife was an otherworlder, not that she was a Rakan.”

Hector splayed his arms. “So?”

“So you’re an idiot. Rakans are rare.”

“I know that.”

“Did you know that slavers everywhere have a jones for the gold, and that’s the only way your Marks could have gotten her? Believe me, I once looked for one myself. For
years
. Their planet was in ruins, and the remaining people scattered—but not here. Marks bought her, I promise you.”

“Slavers?” Noelle asked. Buying and selling
people
. She knew it happened, but wow, not so close to home.

Devyn pursed his lips. “Oh, yes. There’s a bona fide sex market, auction houses, you name it, it’s out there. I used to attend those kinds of events and frequent those places myself, so I know what I’m talking about.”

“You really think Bobby bought her?” Hector asked, looking past the living room, into a place Noelle couldn’t see.

“Actually, I’m sure of it,” Devyn said, and he did sound confident. “I wouldn’t be surprised if whoever did the selling wants her back the moment he learns of Marks’s murder, if he didn’t do the murdering himself. That’s what I would have done, if I were rotten to the core, that is, but my evil is only skin-deep. I would have sold her, then killed to get her back. She’d make a damn fine profit, over and over again. You’d be smart to put a detail on her at all times.”

An idea tumbled through Noelle’s mind. Sex market. A rare Rakan.
Blow the lid off …

She sat up straighter. All the women she’d seen in those photos had been pretty. Taken from their homes. Held captive. No ransom had been demanded. They hadn’t been beaten. Starved, yes, but that could have been because the skinny ones fetched a better price. Who knew?

Maybe nothing had been done to them yet because they hadn’t been sold. Maybe they were to have gone to a single buyer rather than seeing to hundreds in a single day. Slavery had to be a big business. Skeevy, disgusting, and to the one doing the selling, worth killing over, as Devyn had said.

They could be way off base, but … maybe they weren’t. Right now they had no other leads.

“I’ll put that detail on the Markses’ house, and I’ve got Margarete injected with our isotope tracker,” Hector said, fingers flying over the keyboard on his phone,
already texting Mia, she was sure. Probably even checking Margarete’s location. “While I was there, I noticed the walls were reinforced metal. Those shields will keep any otherworlders from teleporting inside.”

“You still have contacts in the slaver world, Devyn?” Noelle asked.

Hector propped his elbows on his knees, leaning toward Devyn, riveted. He cared about the victims. Truly cared, wanted justice.

She liked that about him.

You softening, girlie? Look where that got you the last three times
.

I’m hard as stone!

“Nope,” Devyn said. “About a year ago, a promising up-and-comer went missing. Gerard Hendrick, gone in a puff of smoke. He would have done anything to make a sale, was practically going door to door, then suddenly stopped. I didn’t care enough to check up on him. Then, before I started helping AIR out, I killed my last remaining foot in that door to save our very own Eden Black.”

Too bad. Would have made things easy.

Hector cleared his throat. “This is adding up to some heavy shit. We need to keep any connection between Marks, Margarete, and the slave market quiet. Not just because we might be wrong, but because we don’t want anyone going after our Rakan. Of course, that’s moot if the killer is the slaver. He already knows she’s there.”

“And the detail will catch him trying to grab her.” So, in a way, she was like bait.

They spent the next half hour tossing around other
ideas, but nothing else stuck or felt even partially right. Not even the info Noelle kept to herself—for the moment. If Hector wanted to ditch her again, he’d have to fly blind.

Soon conversation began to lag. Then, of course, awkward silence reigned, no one wanting to look in her direction. She was extra, unwanted baggage. Whatever.
I don’t care
.

Noelle wasn’t letting Hector out of her sight. For the case, of course.

“You better answer this, genius, or I’ll kick your ass!” Ava’s voice suddenly belted out.

“Ava’s here?” Devyn frowned, searching the room for a sign of her.

“You explain it to him,” Noelle told Hector. “I need to take this.” Without leaving the room, and knowing she was rude as hell, she fit the cell against her ear. “Tremain here, goddess extraordinaire.”

“You’re pregnant.” A flat statement, not a question, and crackling with so much rage Noelle was surprised her mother hadn’t already combusted. “With an otherworlder’s child, at that. An otherworlder who is also a football player person.”

Football player person
was said with the same disgust one might expect to hear
malignant cancer
. Her mother was the biggest freaking human elitist on this planet or any other. “Mother, how many times do I have to tell you? You can’t believe what you read.”

A hopeful pause. “You’re not pregnant?” What her mother didn’t say but implied:
Thank God
.

A laugh escaped her. “I do have a bun in the oven,
yes.” And it had been glazed with honey and sugar, butter melted over the top. “I’m just not sure who the father is. And, to be honest, I’m in a meeting with three of the other candidates, so can we save this conversation for after the paternity test?”