Don't Call Me Hero (29 page)

I slept so soundly that night, I forgot where I was in the morning. That hadn’t happened in a long time. Forget the dream catcher, all I needed was Julia Desjardin.

The woman in question was no longer beside me, and the sheets were cool to the touch on her side of the bed. I rolled onto the empty space beside me and was rewarded with the scent of her light perfume.

The clock on my phone told me it was morning, but the curtains in the room had been drawn so that no sunlight would wake me. The clothes I’d worn the previous day had been folded and sat in a tidy pile on a bench at the foot of the bed. The sight had me grinning. Someone really needed to help the city attorney cut loose, and I was happy to take on the job.

I slipped into my clothes from the day before and pulled my tangled hair into a loose bun. The door to the master bathroom was slightly ajar and I could see the warm glow of light peeking around the door’s edges. I knocked softly on the door and pushed it open without waiting for a response from the other side.

“God damn.” The words slipped out of my mouth without filter.

Julia was leaning over the vanity sink and applying mascara to her already dramatic eyes. I raked my eyes up and down her tantalizing body. Her skin was flawless, not scarred, like mine. She looked too perfect for words in only a delicate lace bra and panty set. Standing on her tiptoes as she bent over the vanity to lean closer to the mirror, her calf muscles were even more defined than when she wore high heels. Her back arched, her shoulder muscles flexed with movement as she carefully applied makeup, and her lacy underwear perfectly hugged her backside. I bit my lip at a mental image of me ripping the light blue undergarments from her body.

She regarded me via the mirror. A carefully manicured eyebrow rose on her forehead. “Need something, Detective?”

“More like need
someone
, Madam Prosecutor.”

Maybe I should have been more reserved or kept my emotions more in check, but the moment was too powerful, too intimate, to not step behind her and wrap my arms around her slender waist. My hands seemed to naturally curl around her hipbones.

She set her mascara tube on the vanity counter. “I have a very busy morning.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you can’t distract me.”

“Then maybe you should have put on clothes.”

I dropped kisses on her naked shoulders. I did what felt natural with no filter or second-guessing my actions. Her skin tasted clean and not like the sweaty residue after sex. I resisted the urge to lick the expanse of her neck.

What we were doing felt very coupley, and I hoped she didn’t mind. I really hadn’t had a boyfriend or girlfriend in high school, and dating had been far off the radar when I was enlisted. There had been attractions and hurried sex in semi-private locations, but I’d never had the luxury of waking up in bed next to someone. I didn’t know how to date. I didn’t know how to be in a relationship. I could add that as yet another grown-up skill I’d missed out on.

I grinned into the kisses when I saw her eyes flutter close. Her hands came to rest on top of my hands. Maybe it was just me, but it felt like things had changed overnight. We hadn’t only spent the night together; we’d both shared secrets and memories that neither of us had wanted to re-live. I was discovering that while sex could be intimate, words and conversations could be even more so.

She spun around in my arms so we were face to face. With us both barefoot she was a few inches shorter than me, but not by much. Her hands fisted in my mess of blonde curls, and she crushed her mouth against mine. She tasted sweet and minty.

Before I could do anything except for kiss her back, she was letting me go and pushing her hands against my collarbone.

“Go downstairs so I can finish getting ready.”

“But—”

She gave me a stiff shove. “Now.”

“Fine.”

“Make yourself useful. There’s coffee grounds in the freezer and the coffeemaker’s on the kitchen counter.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her tongue flicked across her bottom lip. “I think I may like that title even more than Madam Prosecutor.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want,” I grinned.

She tugged at the belt loop of my jeans. “Go. Before I change my mind again about having a busy morning.”

I bounded down the stairs and busied myself with the task of making coffee. After a brief investigation, I found a travel mug and filled it with coffee for Julia to bring to work. She appeared a short while later in an outfit that left me wanting to ditch the rest of the day.

The light grey dress was sleeveless, displaying her long, lean arms. The neckline was modest, but not prudish. A wide black belt cinched around her small waist, flowing out to slightly flaring hips. The skirt was fitted with a respectable side slit, and the bottom hemline stopped just above the knee. I repressed the desire to let loose a wolf-whistle. I could anticipate her reaction if I’d done so—she’d narrow her eyes and chastise me for the unrefined action.

I handed her the coffee mug. “Black, right?”

She effortlessly slipped into black heels without having to bend over. “Yes. Thank you.”

I leaned against the kitchen counter while she grabbed her briefcase and finished getting ready for the day. “I have to pick up my bike from your cabin. Do you have time this morning to drive me there?”

“I wasn’t planning on making you walk, dear.”

A light rain had started by the time we left Julia’s home. We drove out farther into the country to her family’s cabin with only the sound of intermittent windshield wipers filling the void. It wasn’t an awkward silence, though. It felt almost natural, just as it had in her bathroom while I’d watched her get ready for work.

Julia pulled off the county highway and onto a long dirt pathway that led to her cottage. The Mercedes bumped down the unpaved road, and it reminded me a little of driving down the remote village roads in Afghanistan. But instead of being surrounded by piles of sand and rock, I saw evergreen trees, and instead of being elbow tight with sweaty Marines, I had a gorgeous, perfumed woman in the driver’s seat. I was worlds away from that life.

Her eyes squinted as she pulled the vehicle to a stop. “What is he doing out here?”

“Who?”

“My father.” Julia shut off the engine and the wipers stilled. “That’s his car.”

A charcoal grey luxury car, an older model Jaguar, was parked next to my motorcycle.

“I can’t imagine what he’d be doing out here though. He always hated this place, but especially after Jon died.”

“Did your brother …” I didn’t know how to ask the invasive question without being obtuse. “Did he …”

“He took his life out here, yes,” Julia answered before I could form the complete question. “My father used to store hunting rifles out here, and Jon kept his own guns in the locked cabinet as well. My father wanted to bulldoze the place afterwards—burn it to the ground and salt the earth. But this place belonged to my mother’s family, and she wouldn’t allow it.”

“Who owns the deed now?” I thought about Olivia Desjardin, the frail woman in the red cardigan.

“It’s still my mother’s,” Julia answered. “Her family had the money. My father came from far humbler origins. But he’s always been a very ambitious man. He only tolerated the very best from us. I think he was disappointed when Jonathan enlisted—like being a soldier was somehow only for poor people with no futures.”

I must have made a face because she was quickly separating her opinion from her father’s: “
I
never thought that though. Serving one’s country is about the most selfless thing a person can do. I’ve always thought of it as a valiant act—almost romantic, like something from another time.”

We climbed out of her car and walked to the cabin’s front door. Julia tried the handle. Finding it locked, she singled out a key from her collection. She unlocked the door, pushed it open, and walked inside. “Father?”

I hovered just outside, not wanting to insert myself into a family matter. Plus, I thought the Mayor was almost as intimidating as his daughter.

“You can come in, Cassidy,” Julia called to me.

I took a tentative step past the threshold. The inside of the cabin better resembled my studio apartment than either of the Desjardin homes. The furniture was sparse: a worn couch and a card table with four folding chairs around it. In one corner was a wood-burning stove that flickered with life despite the mid-July mugginess.

Julia picked up a piece of paper she found near the woodstove.

“What is it?” I asked. Her features seemed to have visibly darkened.

She crushed the paper in her fist. “It’s nothing.” She lifted the lid of the woodstove, and a plume of grey smoke escaped before she could toss the balled up paper inside.

She coughed and closed the lid. “Great. Now I smell like smoke.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll have to take another shower and pick out a new outfit before I meet with the City Council later this morning.”

I placed my hands at her hips. “You smell good to me.”

“You probably think the fryer at Stan’s smells good.”

I grinned and nodded with enthusiasm.

“I can’t show up to work smelling like campfire.” Julia ran a hand through her hair and tried to look annoyed, but I could tell she was having a hard time feigning the emotion when I was touching her with such familiarity.

“You could shower at my place,” I offered. “It’s on the way.”

“I appreciate the noble gesture, dear, but there’s still the matter of my clothes. And before you go suggesting I borrow something of yours, I’m sure I don’t need to point out that you and I don’t share the same taste in clothes.”

“Maybe you should keep some things at my apartment.” My eyes instantly darted to the floor when I realized what I’d just suggested. “You know, in case you ever smell like campfire again.”

Instead of issuing an immediate refusal as I had expected, Julia’s head tilted to one side as though she was actually considering the offer and its implications.

“Why don’t you stop by my house before your shift tonight, and we can talk about it then.”

My head snapped up. “Really?”

“I’ll expect you for dinner at 7:30 p.m.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

My grin was nearly too big to fit on my face when I walked into the police department later that day. David made no comment about my obvious good mood this time. He waved me over to the computer and desk where he was sitting.

“Miller, you’ve gotta see this.”

“If it’s another dancing cat,” I remarked, “I’m not interested.” I pulled an extra chair up to the desk and sat beside him. “What’s up?”

“I’ve been looking over that bank account that the radio money was deposited into. And I think I found the fucking Mother Load.” He pointed at the computer monitor. “Look at these other deposits.”

Our warrant had given us access to the account’s deposit, transfer, and withdrawal information for the past five years.

“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled as I looked over the numbers. “Look at the size amounts for the deposits in this thing.”

“That can’t be for more radios, right?” David posed.

I slowly shook my head. The month we were looking at had deposits totaling millions of dollars.

“I knew it!” David slapped his hand down on the desk. “Who knows what other illegal money is in this account.” He practically vibrated with energy.

“You two knuckleheads mind telling me what this is all about?” Chief Hart called from his office.

Both David and I snapped to attention.

“What’s that, Chief?” David yelled back.

“Did one of you contact Social Security?”

Uh oh.

“We’ve got to tell him,” I said under my breath.

“But he’s still a
suspect
,” David growled back.

“Got to tell me what?” Chief Hart stood in front of our shared desk with his hands resting on his gun belt.

My lips twitched. I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t any good at lying.

“Nothing, Chief,” David quickly covered.

“I just got an e-mail from Social Security about a warrant they received from this police department requesting information about a person of interest,” Chief Hart announced expectantly.

I couldn’t keep my father’s oldest friend in the dark about this investigation any longer. Even if he had something to do with the embezzled grant money, we’d have to confront him eventually.

I opened my mouth.

“Don’t do it, Miller,” David warned. “It’s too soon.”

“We can’t keep this under wraps anymore, Addams,” I snapped back.

Chief Hart looked lost by our conversation, and it made me feel incredibly guilty. “Sir, over the past month, David and I have been following up on a federal grant that allowed our department and neighboring agencies to purchase new interoperable communication systems.”

“The Homeland Security grant,” Chief Hart noted with a nod. “I know it well; I headed that up.”

I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “We recently discovered that the feds provided those radios for free.”

“No they didn’t,” Chief Hart argued. “It was a collaborative match grant.”

“That’s what you told the other departments’ chiefs,” David said sourly.

“Because that’s what I was told,” our boss countered. “What are you implying, Addams?”

“Chief, we really need to see that e-mail from Social Security,” I insisted.

He waved his hand towards his open office door. “Sure. Go ahead.”

David practically stampeded into Chief Hart’s office. I was eager to read the e-mail, too, but I showed more physical restraint.

I sat down behind Chief Hart’s desk and maneuvered the mouse to pull up the e-mail from Social Security. It was curious that the e-mail had been sent to Chief Hart’s work address instead of David’s or my own, but we had the message and that was what was important.

“What does it say?” David asked. “Whose social security number is it? Who does the bank account belong to?”

My eyes scanned over the e-mail as I took in the new information that our warrant had procured. “Oh no,” I muttered.

David leaned over my shoulder to better see the computer screen. I felt nauseous, and I didn’t know if it was from his overpowering cologne or from the contents of the e-mail.

+ + +

William J. Desjardin was at his home when we arrested him later that day. David was the constant professional as he read the Mayor his Miranda rights, but I could tell from the brightness in his already brilliant blue eyes that he was geeked by the arrest. For myself, I was more subdued. Even as David lowered the Mayor’s head and guided him into the back of the patrol car, I couldn’t help worrying how this arrest would affect Julia and me.

+ + +

The clock on my microwave glared at me in neon green. How long would it take for news to reach the city prosecutor that her father had been arrested? I roughly rubbed my hands over my face. It should have been me. I should have been the one to call her. But here I was, hiding out in my apartment like a coward. She didn’t deserve this;
I
didn’t deserve her.

I imagined Julia in her kitchen when she received the call. Maybe she’d left work a few hours early to get started on dinner for tonight. Her hand would grip the phone tighter, sure she’d misheard the caller’s words. After hanging up, she would calmly pull the roast, potatoes, and baby carrots out of the oven, wrap everything in plastic wrap, and put them in the refrigerator. It was easier to shut down and not feel anything rather than take on your emotions. I was a professional at it.

The microwave clock told me I still had another hour until Julia was expecting me. I pulled on my leather jacket like donning body armor to prepare for war.

I grabbed my helmet, phone, and keys, and nearly ran into Julia on my way out the door. She looked startled for a moment, but her features slipped into nonchalance when she recovered from the initial shock. Her smoky eye makeup looked more dramatic than ever. I doubted she had reapplied it only to confront me. This had been for me, pre-arresting her father.

“I was just on my way to see you,” I said, tucking my motorcycle helmet beneath one arm.

“It looks like we had the same idea.”

I cleared my throat. “Weird day, huh?”

“You arrested my father.”

I glanced to my right and then to the left. There was no sign of Grace or my landlady, but if they were in their apartments they’d be able to hear our conversation as clear as if we’d been putting on a performance in their living room.

“We should discuss this inside.”

Julia didn’t wait for a second invite. Our shoulders brushed as she pushed past me.

She turned on her heels. Her dark grey jacket, skirt, and black blouse were as stormy as her mood. “My father is a good man. Whatever you think he did, he must have had a good reason for it.”

“Did you know?”

“Know what? That my father was allegedly stealing money from my hometown? No. Of course not.”

“
Alleged?
Your father’s social security number was connected to the bank account the money for those police radios was deposited to.”

“Because he’s the mayor,” she said stiffly.

“It’s a personal bank account, Julia. You saw the numbers yourself. And, you were the one who told me the difference between personal and commercial accounts, remember?”

“Maybe there’s higher interest rates in a personal account than a commercial account,” she tried to reason. I knew what she was doing; she was a lawyer. But I couldn’t tell who she was trying to convince of her father’s innocence—me or herself.

“That still doesn’t explain why neighboring police departments were told the radio grant was a matching funds program. Regardless if your father was using this account for his own personal slush fund or for city business, the actual money in the account should never have existed.”

My logic for once was sound, and I could tell she knew it, too.

“And we found more. More money,” I continued, feeling myself becoming agitated the longer we talked and the more she denied his culpability. “I wouldn’t be surprised if half of the failed grant applications in this town had actually been awarded, and went right into your father’s pockets.”

Julia slipped her hands beneath the collar of my leather jacket until her fingers curled around the worn material.

I stiffened at the contact. “What are you doing?”

“Come on, Hero. Save me,” she breathed.

“Julia.” I struggled on the name. I could feel her hold tighten.

“Isn’t that your job, Detective? Isn’t this what you do best?” Her caramel-colored eyes flashed. “How are you going to save the day now?”

Julia kissed me hard. Her mouth was unforgiving, and I tried to not think about the motive behind the kiss. She tugged my lower lip between her top and bottom rows of teeth and bit down. It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood, but it would be swollen and tender later.

My knees wobbled while she pulled me towards the closest piece of furniture—the overstuffed easy chair. She struggled only briefly before shrugging out of her three-quarter length suit jacket. I reached for the top button of her black, silky shirt, but her fingers wrapped around my wrists to stop me. Her mouth never left mine, and she yanked my arms down and pinned them at my sides. Her strength surprised me as I found myself being shoved backwards and falling into the easy chair.

She stepped out of her high-heeled shoes and reached for the hidden zipper of her form-fitting skirt. The material clung to her like a second skin; it was so tight, I didn’t know how she could maneuver in it. The zipper went south and the skirt fell down her thighs and long legs to pool at her ankles in an expensive heap. She sidestepped the circled material and left it on the floor next to her high heels. My eyes traveled the length of her legs, from her bare ankles up to her slightly parted thighs.

My breath hitched when she settled on my lap. Her thighs straddled me, leaving her legs deliciously open. The bottom hem of her black shirt crawled up her thighs to reveal a glimpse of dark red underwear. We’d been in this position before in my police car. I knew what was expected of me.

I reached between our bodies. My fingertips brushed against silk as I slipped her panties to the side.

“No.”

I recognized the cold, angry emotion splashed across her face. It was how she’d looked at everything in this town before I’d been able to soften those edges. It hurt to see that hardened mask had returned and to know that I was partially responsible. But what had she expected me to do? Her father was a criminal; I couldn’t just look the other way because she was the most beautiful and complex woman I’d ever met.

I didn’t know what game she was playing, so how could I ever know the rules? I dropped my hand back onto my lap.

Although she was half undressed, I still wore my leather coat, and she appeared satisfied to let me continue to wear it. She grabbed the lapels once more and tugged the jacket open at the neck. The movement caused the material encasing my arms to seize, effectively restricting the movement of my limbs. She could do whatever she wanted to me, and I would be powerless to stop it. This helpless, trapped feeling was not foreign, and it should have triggered me. But I trusted her—even now—and that feeling alone kept the flashbacks at bay.

She dipped her head and jet-black hair fell across her face. I ached to brush it behind her ear, but I worried she’d only slap my hand away. Her lips ghosted against the side of my neck, and I tensed when I felt the familiar scrape of teeth against my pulse point. We’d done this before, too, and I knew how it turned out for me. But her touch remained soft, and her lips fluttered lightly against my skin. I let out a deep, tension-filled breath and relaxed farther into the chair.