Undone by Moonlight (4 page)

“Who wins?” Calla asked.

“Nobody,” Victoria said. “We argue, have sex then forget what
we were arguing about.”

“Sounds like a good thing,” Calla muttered. “Shelby, does
Trevor have a man-cave?”

“He has an office. With a minifridge stocked full of sparking
water and champagne. I don’t think cavemen ever envisioned the English
aristocracy. His decorator’s excellent, though. Course she makes in a month what
I do in a year, but our place is beautiful, and she had a commercial-grade
Sub-Zero fridge installed in the kitchen, so she’s good in my book.”

“Is her brother, sister, mother, father, cousin or next-door
neighbor a lawyer?” Calla asked, wondering how they’d wandered into this
tangent.

“Sorry.” Shelby cleared her throat. “Back to Detective
Antonio...does this suspension have anything to do with his trouble years
ago?”

“I don’t know,” Calla admitted.

“You’re going to have to ask him about it,” Victoria reminded
her.

Calla waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah. I will.” And wouldn’t
that
be fun? But if she was going to help, she had to
have all the facts, no matter how painful.

“It seems to me we need to find out how strong the case is
against him,” Shelby said, echoing Calla’s concern.

“And who’s this witness accusing him of assault?” Victoria
asked. “Antonio might be moody, but he wouldn’t beat up some random stranger.
Why would he need to? He probably intimidates most criminals with a single cold
stare.”

“The department isn’t saying diddly,” Calla said, knowing they
had to find a way around that. Legal advice was imperative. Course he hadn’t
actually been charged with anything...yet. If she hadn’t seen the lost and
furious expression on Devin’s face, she’d wonder if she was overreacting. “Devin
seems to think his boss believes in him, but he has to follow procedure. IAB’s
going to get involved.” She paused to gather her emotions before she added,
“They took his badge. I mean physically forced him to hand it over. Talk about
humiliating.”

Shelby’s eyes darkened. “Oh, Calla.”

Calla swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’s not just what he
does, it’s who he is.”

“He’s still a cop,” Victoria pointed out, pragmatic as always.
“He has friends, right? You know, really stoic and tolerant ones. We obviously
need somebody on the inside.”

The contrast of Victoria’s sarcasm brought back
Calla’s
optimism. They had much more on their side than entrapment and lies. “He has
friends.” Though that was also wrapped up in hope, since she’d never met any of
them. “I’ll get him working on that angle right away. As soon as I find him,”
she muttered.

Victoria sighed in disgust. “Don’t find him. He’ll come to
you.”

Calla ground her teeth. “Sure he will.”

“Bet,” Victoria said, her eyes gleaming. “I got twenty on the
Calla-dazzled detective.”

“Calla-dazzled?” Shelby asked. “Is that a word?”

“It is now,” Victoria asserted.

“Darling, we have dinner reservations,” Calla heard Trevor,
Shelby’s new husband, say in his elegant English accent.

“I’m coming,” Shelby called. “Say hi to Calla and
Victoria.”

Trevor’s handsome face appeared in the video frame. “Good
evening, ladies.”

Calla had to suppress a sigh at his wavy black hair and vivid
dark blue eyes. She really was desperate if she was lusting after her best
friend’s husband.

When he moved out of view, Calla got a glimpse of him walking
away, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit. With this whole assault and
suspension mess, she’d also missed out on seeing Devin in a suit at the
wedding.

Infuriated again, Calla vowed to personally see that lying,
purse-snatching jerk paid for that crime alone.

“How’s the snow?” Calla whispered to Shelby as Trevor left the
room.

“How’s the sex?” Victoria asked at the same time.

“Great and great,” Shelby returned. “And I need to get back to
both. Trevor’s patient as a saint, of course, but an emergency video chat with
my girlfriends is enough to drive any groom to frustration.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” Calla said. “Both of you.”

“Tell Devin I’ll make him some of my special cookies when I get
back,” Shelby said. “My next catering gig isn’t for a while.”

“And if he decides to blow off the NYPD and these bogus
charges,” Victoria added, “I’m sure Jared would be glad to take him off to
Borneo or somewhere equally unextraditable.”

Calla’s throat tightened. “You guys are the best. Coffee’s on
me next week.”

Victoria’s lips winged up. “Wedding pictures and a plan to
clear a friend on an assault charge. Only the three of us could have a coffee
date like that.”

After they signed off, Calla slumped on the sofa. Her and her
buddies’ latest adventures had included sending a fraudulent investor to prison
and solving the theft of a cursed multimillion-dollar diamond-and-sapphire
necklace.

How hard could it be to convince the NYPD of the innocence of
their determined, clever, though admittedly irascible, friend? Possibly without
said friend’s help?

She closed her laptop and leaned her head back. Who was she
kidding? For months she’d lived in a fantasy world concerning Devin. The text,
the craziness of last night and the impulsive kiss were all she had as any kind
of evidence that he might want her, too.

And all of those events could be attributed to some sort of
altered state.

He always comes to the rescue when you
call him.

Super. If only she were the one suspended and accused of
assault.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she should back out and let him deal
with his problems on his own.

He’d never desert you.

Frustrated with the whole mess, and especially her interfering
conscience, she rose. She needed a strong cup of tea and a big piece of leftover
wedding cake.

On the way to the kitchen, she glanced at the plastic pharmacy
bottle sitting on the counter. His pain meds.

Victoria was right. He’d be back.

Unless he found a liquor store open on Sundays.

4

D
EVIN
SHIFTED
HIS
WEIGHT
and stared at
the carpeted floor outside Calla’s apartment.

He was never indecisive. What was wrong with him?

A head injury was too convenient to blame. Embarrassment over
his suspension was whiney. Overwhelmed by a beautiful woman’s kiss was damned
humiliating.

That left regret.

But his DNA didn’t include contrition. His personal motto was
trudge on and forward and forget the crappy past that couldn’t be changed.

Her touch and scent lingered on his skin. Weak and dizzy, he
longed to give into the comfort she’d offered. To bury himself in her body, hold
her against him beneath cool sheets, feel her breath heave, her pulse gather
speed.

But she was too pure and perfect for him. He’d taint her
somehow. He came from bad stock and had no doubt of a golden upbringing for her
that included luxuries like regular meals and consistent lighting and heat. He
imagined her dad as some big guy with a Stetson, a firm hand, but broad smile
for his beauty queen daughter.

His old man had done a dime for armed robbery, and Devin hadn’t
seen him since he’d mooched four hundred bucks and taken off for parts unknown
eight years ago.

He leaned his head against her door, bracing himself. He’d
mistakenly given into his urges once before. The results hadn’t been pretty.

Added to those crappy memories was the incessant pounding in
his head. He wasn’t thinking straight, and only Calla held the relief he
needed—in more ways than one. He was weak and, for once, he needed somebody to
share the burden.

Acknowledging he’d been stalling, he knocked on the door.

She answered wearing jeans, a gray sweater and a scowl.

“I shouldn’t have taken off so abruptly,” he said in a
rush.

She raised her eyebrows. “That’s almost an apology.”

Was he really such an ass to her? Uncomfortable with the idea,
he shifted his weight. “Sorry. I did—do appreciate your help.”

“Uh-huh. Did you also suddenly remember I have your pain
pills?”

He winced. “That crossed my mind.”

After a lengthy pause, she opened the door wide. “Damned if I
don’t owe Victoria twenty bucks.”

“I haven’t forgotten I owe you for last night,” he said as he
closed the door behind him.

“You’ve bailed me and my friends out of several messes the last
few months.” She shook two white tablets out of the prescription bottle she
scooped off the kitchen counter and handed them to him with a glass of water. “I
think we can call it even.”

He swallowed the pills, though he knew the medicine would
muddle his thoughts. Anything was better than the jackhammer that seemed to have
taken up permanent residence between his ears.

She sat on the sofa and picked up a legal pad from the coffee
table. “So who wants to frame you?” she asked, all business.

He sat beside her, keeping a safe distance. The last thing his
confused brain needed was more kissing, though from her tone so far he guessed
he’d blown another chance anyway. “Who doesn’t? I’ve arrested a lot of people
over the last fifteen years.”

Her pen poised, she rolled her eyes. “Specifics, Detective.
Names, dates, circumstances.”

“That’ll take days.”

“You’ve got other plans?”

He peeked at the pad and saw it contained a record of
everything that had happened the night before, along with times and locations.
“Case notes? That’s something cops do.”

“It’s what writers do, too. So spill.”

“I’ve been involved with hundreds, maybe thousands of busts.
I’ll need access to the files at the department.”

“What’s the chance of Meyer letting you do that?”

“Zero.”

“You’ve got friends inside the department, right? Somebody who
can pass on information, give us details about the case against you?”

He shook his head. “I doubt anyone would risk their own job to
break the law and help me. I wouldn’t ask them to.”

“You don’t have friends, then.”

“Not everybody is as tight-knit as you and your gang.”

She scowled. “We’re not a gang, and you shouldn’t be so quick
to dismiss, as you’re going to need us in the coming weeks.”

Weeks?
Devin fought a cold sweat.
His vow not to get mixed up with Calla was shaky after they’d spent a few hours
together. He’d never last weeks.

Or would he? Was he making too much out of their attraction?
He’d been working virtually nonstop the past few weeks, closing several cases.
He needed...companionship. Maybe if he gave into his urges, he’d get her out of
his system. Then he could be in the same room with her without panting.

Although telling her that plan would buy him a one-way ticket
out the door.

She waved her hand in front of his face. “Gone to la-la land
already?”

No way. He’d be in a better mood if he had. “This whole thing
will be cleared up in a few days. Neither the department nor IAB will take the
word of a sole witness.” Which was a good thing for him, since his record wasn’t
exactly spotless where the cops’ cops were concerned. “They’ll have to find
physical evidence. They won’t, since I didn’t touch the guy.”

“Evidence like the scrapes on your knuckles?”

He glanced down at his hands, noting the raw skin on his right.
His heart jumped. “I hadn’t noticed them.”

“You’re confused and probably have a splitting headache. It’s
understandable.”

“No,” he said slowly, “it really isn’t. I’m a trained observer.
Why didn’t I see that?”

“The doctor said you’d have some side effects from the blow to
your head. Shock and confusion are numbers one and two. Are you dizzy, as well?
You should probably lie down awhile. We can table this discussion for now.”

“I’m not dizzy,” he ground out. He wasn’t going to let her
treat him like a scared kid. Or, worse, a victim.

The mistakes of the past were rounding on him with a vengeance.
He already had a huge blemish on his record. The chances of his lieutenant
standing by him over another one weren’t good.

Infuriated and embarrassed, he turned to pace, wobbled on his
feet and grasped the air for balance. She was on him in a second, sliding her
arm around his waist. “I’ve got you.”

Closing his eyes to her compassion, he longed to shoot
something—preferably the creep who’d whacked him—but they’d taken his damn
gun.

He didn’t resist when she led him to the sofa, though he knew
he should. Ever since he’d woken up, he’d felt as if time were jumping forward,
then pausing, rewinding, then jerking ahead again. Yet of all the things he had
no idea about, he knew one thing for certain: time moved in only one
direction.

“I expect you’ll remember everything eventually,” Calla said,
sitting beside him, wrapping her hand around his. “Though some people who’re
severely traumatized never fully regain—”

“I’m
not
traumatized.”

“Whatever you say, Detective.”

What happened to
Devin?
Last night
she’d— There was the rewind again. He recalled sliding his hand between her
thighs, his name on her lips as she...told him to back off.

Great. The idiotic behavior he’d sort-of remembered earlier
hadn’t been imaginary. He should really slink home before he humiliated himself
further.

Her thumb glided across the back of his hand, and he went hard.
Oh, good, to add to the complications he had no idea how to solve, now his head
wasn’t the only part of him throbbing.

“Do you want to lie down or continue talking about suspects for
your assault?” she asked.

“Suspects,” he said quickly. Lying down meant a bed and sheets
and— “I need to clear this up and get back to my life.”

Her gaze flicked to his. Her blue eyes were bright and clear
and so beautiful. He didn’t belong in the same room with her, much less deserve
her loyalty. “I kind of like having you here at my mercy.”

“I don’t like relying on anybody.”

“No kidding.” She glanced at their hands. “Not that I want you
suspended, I just...” Snagging her tablet of notes from the coffee table, she
sat on a bar stool across the room. “The guy who hit you is trying to frame you
for assault, get you fired and arrested, sent to prison even. That’s a pretty
serious plan for a common street thief. Does anybody stand out among your
cases?”

“I haven’t arrested anybody who was happy about it.”

“But in-the-moment fury is different than this. This is cold,
hard rage. Somebody planned the attack on you.” Her expression full of
consideration, she propped her chin against her fist. “They planned it
carefully, maybe for a long time. They turned your job against you.”

The medication must have kicked in because Devin had no idea
where she was going. “How so?”

“The thief-attacker-fake victim lured you to do your job then
made you pay for it the way criminals pay. It’s symbolic.”

“Most convicts aren’t deep thinkers. They look for a quick
score. You’re making too much drama out of this.”

She dismissed the idea with a flick of her hand. “Probably. A
writer’s prerogative.”

“You write travel articles, not mystery novels.” Still, the
idea of a plan to take him out couldn’t be dismissed, since that’s exactly what
had happened. “So this guy pretends to be a purse snatcher and runs by me. How
did he know I’d be in that bar at that time of day? How could he be sure I’d go
after him?”

“He’s watching you.”

“Nobody tails me without me knowing about it.”

“But you were distracted yesterday. Your day off, the
neighbor’s ceiling fan, the dry cleaning, football, the wedding. Regular guy
stuff. You weren’t in police mode.”

“Cops, even off-duty ones, never stop being cops.”

“If you say so.”

He wished he could blame his countless mistakes yesterday on
“regular guy stuff.” In truth, the only thing that might have distracted him was
the thought of seeing her, and he wasn’t about to admit his weakness in that
particular area.

Could he have been followed? He’d been running full-out over
the past few days. Paperwork and court on Wednesday. Late stakeout on Thursday
night. Arrest early Friday. But his schedule wasn’t any more hectic this week
than any other. He would have noticed some creep tailing him.

“So we start with career guys,” she said, scribbling on her
notepad. “Those with long memories and a score to settle.”

“No.” Devin rose. He was wobbly, which he hated, but he was
still a cop. It was time he started acting like one. “We start with the scene of
the crime.”

* * *

C
ALLA
WASN
’
T
SURE
how she wound up in a Midtown
alley, peeking around a Dumpster, kicking her way around bits of trash and
discarded food containers. The owner of the Chinese take-out joint they were
lurking behind was destined to open his back door eventually, then they’d have
some awkward explaining to do.

The fact that she and Devin found themselves on the opposite
side of his coworkers was a development she’d never anticipated.

Since she’d known him, Devin had used his position to help
people and serve the cause of justice. He found himself parted from the law now,
and she honestly thought she and her friends might be his only hope. She was
going to help him whether he wanted her to or not.

She owed him.

So regardless of what he wanted, she wasn’t going to give up on
him. Once he got his badge back, she’d decide if anything personal was worth
pursuing.

Seriously, did the man always run from women who kissed
him?

Not a reaction she’d expected from Detective Badass, to say the
least.

Said detective seemed to have forgotten she was there, though
she found it hard to be insulted. He was no doubt reliving the assault from the
night before.

She imagined him running into the alley, expecting to see the
retreating back of his thief. Instead, he’d gotten clocked.

Had his cell phone flown free in the attack? Had he crawled
toward it when he regained consciousness? Had he been afraid?

She looked toward him as he knelt on the pavement, running his
fingertips across the ground. “Anything?” she asked as she approached.

Not looking up, he shook his head. “I remember chasing him
here, then...nothing.”

“So he was the one who hit you?”

“No.” Slowly, he straightened. “He was running away from me
when I got hit.”

“The accomplice, lying in wait. He clobbered you.”

“We’d figured that already, but it’s good to have
confirmation.” Laying his hand on the back of his head, he winced. “Though I
swear I can feel the blow all over again.”

“Meds haven’t kicked in?”

“I see two of you, so I think they have.” Though he turned
away, she heard him mutter, “Not that double vision of you is a bad thing.”

She ignored the compliment. Given their unsteady relationship,
she thought she’d be wiser to focus on the assault. “And you never got a sense
of anybody behind you? A movement? A shadow? A smell even?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you remember what hit you? The guy didn’t strike you with
his bare hand. He had to be holding something.”

“A bat, I guess.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Some guy wandered down
Ninth Avenue with a bat, then darted into an alley and nobody questioned
him?”

“It was dark and chilly,” Devin said, narrowing his eyes.
“Maybe the guy wore a coat.”

“Did he?” she shot back.

“How should I—” He paused, cocking his head. “Maybe I passed
somebody as I was walking.”

“Did you?”

“I don’t know,” he returned, irritated. “I
was...
distracted.”

“By?”

“You.” He sighed. “I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.” Talk about lousy timing. What might have happened if he
hadn’t run into the thief’s trap? Would they have spent the night together in an
entirely different way?