Eagle's Heart (4 page)

“That means yes,” Marta said with a smile as she bounced with happiness at the bottom of the bed. “Take a shower. Get a pedicure. Wear something cute. And leave your hair down for once, okay?”

She stood up and gave Salomeh’s frizzy bun an affectionate tap before grabbing her bag.

“Marta,” Salomeh said softly. “I’m scared.”

“The world is a scary place,” Marta said. “But that shouldn’t keep you from the good stuff in life, like booze and fireworks. See you tomorrow, Sal.”

“Maybe!” Salomeh shouted after her friend, but Marta was already on her way out the front door. Her voice echoed back at her, bouncing off the apartment’s high ceiling as she savored her last sip of coffee.

She didn’t know if it was Marta, the caffeine, or her own sense of self-preservation, but she was starting to feel revitalized. Not quite ready to take on the world, but leaving her apartment was a start. If she could manage to go to a party and have a good time after everything she’d been through, taking on some gangsters would be a piece of cake.

Chapter Three

Julian watched from the car as Yates stood tapping her foot impatiently in the doorway of the beautiful old brownstone where Salomeh Jones lived. Yates had been mashing down the buzzer for the last five minutes, drawing attention from neighbors who sat on their stoops reading books or talking over early evening drinks. A woman wearing a bright orange sari whispered conspiratorially with another decked out in a head wrap and dress in green African print as they eyed the severe-looking blonde woman in the sharp suit.

Julian observed the vibrant neighborhood. It reminded him of
The Cosby Show
, one of the American programs he and his sister had watched on bootleg VHS tapes to shore up their understanding of the English language.

Reflexively, he pushed thoughts of his sister away, focusing instead on Salomeh: what her apartment looked like, and, oddly, whether she was there alone. His search had pulled up nothing but a fiancé she lived with briefly while getting her master of education degree at NYU, but the guy had dropped off the map when Salomeh graduated.

Just as Yates turned to walk back to the car, the front door of the building opened. Julian only realized he had been tensed up in anticipation when he felt disappointment slacken his body; it wasn’t Salomeh as he had expected, but an older black woman. Her gray dreadlocks hung down to her waist, and she stood stiff with annoyance, her face hard as she listened to Yates. The woman spoke for a moment and took Yates’s card, said something that seemed distinctly unpleasant, and slammed the door in her face.

“That looked like it went well,” Julian quipped as Yates climbed into the passenger seat of the beige minivan. “Isn’t getting information from the community supposed to be part of your skill set?”

“She only called me loathsome, so I’d say that it went better than usual,” she said. “And before you start critiquing me, you should remember that shooting people in the face is also part of my skill set.”

“If you shoot as well as you talk to strangers, I think I’m safe,” he said as he pulled off, navigating the car around a group of kids on bikes. He wondered how long it would take to get to their headquarters in Queens with rush-hour traffic.

“Well, maybe you should have spoken to her, since you’re supposed to be the reincarnation of Prince Charming,” Yates said, shooting him a narrowed glare.

Julian stared straight ahead, annoyed at whoever had made him out to be some kind of miracle worker. He was good at making people feel at ease and at getting them to tell him what he needed to know. But he was just as good at stonewalling people who tried to figure him out.

He drove on in silence.

“The woman was her neighbor, and she thought I was a reporter,” Yates finally continued when he didn’t say anything, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder indignantly. “Can you believe that?”

Julian gave her a sidelong glance. “You do have a Lois Lane vibe about you,” he joked.

She scoffed. “Apparently Miss Jones, and everyone in her immediate vicinity, has been plagued by reporters since the scandal broke, and the building has been vandalized by graffiti at least once. She saw Jones leave the apartment today for the first time in a long time. Made it quite clear that the teacher hadn’t had an easy time of it and that I should leave her alone. I gave her my card to pass on to Salomeh and said that I wanted to help, but I don’t think she quite believed me.”

Salomeh’s sorrowful face on the front page of the newspaper popped up in Julian’s mind. He imagined she was the kind of person who would feel terrible about bringing such a disturbance into her neighbors’ lives.

“Let’s come back tomorrow,” Julian said.

“Tomorrow is the Fourth of July,” Yates said. “I’m going to be consuming mass quantities of processed meat with my sister and her husband in New Jersey. You should come; the girl next door is kind of cute, and fortunately for you doesn’t play for my team.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Julian said. He hadn’t been a fan of family gatherings for some time now. Or any kind of gathering, since he had few friends. He was usually standoffish enough that coworkers gave up trying to befriend him, but Yates wasn’t dogged only when it came to catching criminals.

He stared blankly at the school bus in front them that was causing a snarl in traffic, and then asked, “Don’t you think we should follow up on this? Henderson really wants us digging into every lead.”

He casually mentioned the head of the task force’s name in the hopes of goading Yates. He didn’t know why, but something about Salomeh Jones was gnawing at him. He told himself it was his gut instinct driving him to see her, but it was hard to deny that instincts located definitively lower on his person were having their say in the matter too.

“Henderson really wants to break one hundred in his golf game, but that ain’t gonna happen either. It can wait a day,” Yates said. “Unless you know something you’re not telling me?”

Julian shook his head. The only thing he knew was that something about the Jones woman had unsettled him, and the sooner he could speak to her, the sooner he could be done with it and get on with his real objective: finding Bardhyn.

* * * *

The next morning Julian awoke with a start in the apartment he’d been given for the duration of his assignment. The olfactory memory of burning hair and flesh dissipated as he wiped a hand over his sweaty face and took in his surroundings. Bare walls, cheap furniture, central air. It wasn’t home. No place could ever really be home again as far as he was concerned, but like the dozens of places he’d lived since moving to the States, it would suffice.

A series of loud bangs outside the window made him flinch; he was reaching for the gun on his bedside table before he remembered.

Fourth of July. Fireworks.

He flopped back down on the too-soft mattress with a grunt. He attempted to blot out the ghastly vestiges of his dream, trying to focus on anything but death and despair. The first thing that came to mind was innocent enough, but completely unexpected:

I wonder what Salomeh Jones is doing today?

Was she going to a barbecue with friends, or was she back to secluding herself in her apartment?

He didn’t like how the teacher kept popping up in his head, distracting him, and in his Internet searches as well. Maybe that was why she’d been his first concrete thought. He’d stayed up late into the night reading her thesis papers on how to create excitement about learning in urban schools, her pleas for capable people to join the mentorship programs she participated in, and of course the horrible tabloid accounts that had undone all she’d worked for.

She seemed like a good woman.

It doesn’t hurt that she’s beautiful
, the unhelpful voice of his libido chimed in. His late-night search-engine binge had provided a vast amount of information about Miss Jones, things she would probably be horrified to learn were only a click away for anyone so inclined. Those forays into her personal life could be considered work. Research. Following a lead. But there had also been pictures. Pictures of her smiling brightly with her students and speaking enthusiastically at educational events. In those photos, his gaze had been drawn to the way her tailored suit jackets had buttoned tightly just below the swell of her ample cleavage and hugged the flare of her hips. Her skirts were modest, but her tight calves and strong thighs were impossible to ignore. And then there were the candid photos.

His cock swelled as he remembered the few social-media shots he had found. Julian wasn’t a man who lost control of his sex drive easily, but those images had tested him sorely. One in particular had gotten to him even though it should have been innocuous. In it, the teacher was gulping a bottle of water while paused on a dusty hiking trail. Curls had escaped from her tight bun, framing a face that was tinted with the blush of physical exertion. Her head was tipped back, exposing the long column of her neck, and the way her lips were wrapped tightly around the water bottle…

Julian was painfully hard now, from his memory of the picture alone. He felt a flash of impropriety as he slipped his hand under the blanket and gripped his cock tentatively like he was a nervous teenager expecting someone to come bang on the bathroom door.

Fantasizing about someone who figured in the most important case he’d ever handled probably wasn’t the most professional thing he could have done, but if it was just this once, maybe it would get her out of his system.

He pulled the covers away from his heated body, welcoming the cool air that tickled the hairs on his chest and legs. He shut his eyes as he grabbed his stiff cock, already imagining how the bed would sink slightly as Miss Jones—Salomeh—crawled onto it, how warm her lips would be as they pressed into the skin along his jaw.

She would be naked, all smooth brown skin except for the dark delights of her nipples and the black curls between her legs. Julian had seen her in a bikini, could easily imagine the pendulous motion of her breasts as she leaned over him, the curve of her hips and ass as she knelt between his legs. He imagined palming those heavy breasts and feeling her nipples harden against his hand, eager for his touch.

Warmth throbbed low in his stomach as he pumped himself slowly, his fingers tightening around his thick shaft as he imagined Salomeh’s hand moving down his chest and stomach, teasing him with soft caresses as her mouth followed in the wake of her clever fingers.

She would linger at his nipples, somehow knowing he loved the texture of her tongue against his sensitive skin. Her hands would grip his waist possessively as she lapped at his chest and then licked her way down, mouth hovering over the head of his cock so that her every exhalation was a torture. And then her tongue would dart out, giving the tiniest lick to the swollen tip.

He grunted as pleasure washed through him, and a bead of precum pooled at his slit. Julian brushed his thumb gently over the smooth, flanged skin, gathering the moisture there. It wasn’t enough, and he spit into his palm to lubricate himself. The veins of his cock slid against his palm, the exquisite friction aided by the fantasy of Salomeh licking his pulsing shaft from base to head, again and again, before swirling her tongue over the tip of his cock and sucking him into the warm cavern of her mouth.

Julian made a snug circle with his index finger and thumb, moving it up and down in quick, controlled motions over his head and shaft, trying to mimic the sensation of Salomeh’s mouth tightening around his dick, the luscious glide of her soft lips as they ringed his rigid member. He would grab her by the hair and thrust up into her mouth, trying to hold back as she moaned around his cock, the vibrations making his balls draw up at his impending release.

Julian felt the orgasm coming on, felt the tingling in the soles of his feet and the way he lost control of his hips, pumping into his squeezing palm with absolute abandon, his other hand clenching the bedsheets. Desperate for just a few minutes longer with his fantasy woman, he struggled to hang on, to ride out the wave of sensation engulfing him.

But then he imagined how it would feel for Salomeh to swallow him to the hilt, how the ridges of her palate would feel against the head of his cock as she worked him in toward her throat. The way she would look up at him with those big, dark eyes, cheeks hollowed out, bringing him to the edge of oblivion with tongue and lips, and staring up at him like a disheveled angel all the while.

Julian pumped his shaft one final time as the delicious heat raced through him, spreading from his groin and quickly wending its way up his back and through his limbs. For a moment, his whole body was taut with the intensity of his built-up release, and then he came with an explosive cry. His head pressed back into his pillow as his hips bucked, and cum shot out in quick bursts, warm as it pooled on his stomach. Waves of pleasure surged with each spurt until finally, he was completely spent.

As he lay panting, his dick softening in his hand, Julian couldn’t help feeling that he’d made a terrible mistake. He’d thought fantasizing about Salomeh would clear her from his head, but even now, still out of breath from his expenditure, he wanted more. His fantasy version had been so good he was still feeling shaky, but she wasn’t the real Salomeh. For some reason, the fantasy wasn’t enough.

He wanted to know how soft Salomeh’s skin actually was, what her voice sounded like saying his name. He needed to taste her, to see if she was sweet or tart. And the thought of never knowing what her mouth really felt like fastened around his cock…

Unbearable.

Julian sat on the edge of the bed and rolled his neck, relishing the crack as a vertebra repositioned itself. He had hoped to get rid of the nervous energy of his dream, but now he was even more keyed up, lusting after a woman he had no business thinking of beyond
Just the facts, ma’am
. He had a job to do, and it was a hell of a lot more important than getting laid.

He decided to burn off his confusion and desire with a run. He had worked out in the building’s gym, but venturing outdoors would give him a chance to check out the neighborhood beyond the repurposed warehouse full of indie yuppies he currently called home.