Undone by Moonlight (9 page)

Devin’s supposedly passionless heart leaped with joy at seeing
his gorgeous blond lover, but his eyes couldn’t help but take in all of Howard.
He was a tiny guy with brown, bowl-cut hair and dark-rimmed glasses that
dominated his face. He looked more like someone who should be in math class at
MIT than arguing points of law in front of a jury.

“Devin. Thank heaven you’re—” Calla charged toward him,
grinding to a halt as she no doubt noticed the cuffs. Panic and anger leaped
into her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Can I have a minute?” Devin asked Reid.

“You have to be processed before—”

“Of course you can,” Calla interrupted, shooting Reid a violent
glare. “I brought your lawyer.”

Clearing his throat, Howard stepped forward to address Reid.
“My client is a duly designated officer of the law. Handcuffs are hardly
necessary.”

“They are when you’re arrested,” Reid returned. “As you should
know, Counselor.”

“I’ll need copies of all the charges and statements
immediately,” Howard said, not missing a beat.

Reid inclined his head. “You’ll have them.”

“I also need to consult with my client.”

“After he’s processed.”

Howard shook his head, and Devin had to give the little guy
points for standing firm. “Now.”

Reid sighed. “Fine.” He unlocked the cuffs, then opened the
interrogation room door. “Five minutes.”

The whole exchange had happened so fast Devin was alone with
Calla and the lawyer he didn’t even recall hiring before remembering he’d
specifically told Calla not to call Howard.

However, he’d also told her he wasn’t under arrest.

Calla threw her arms around him. “How did this happen? What’s
Reid thinking? What are they saying you did? They can’t really think you beat up
Forrester. This isn’t right!”

Devin absorbed her warmth and inhaled the scent of her
vanilla-ladened shampoo. Had it only been a few hours ago he’d woken in her bed?
Since they’d shared breakfast, sighs and secrets?

Howard captured her hand and pulled her away from Devin. “It’s
okay, Calla. We’ll figure this out. Let the man breathe.”

Devin tugged her back into his arms. “I like her where she
is.”

For good measure, he tossed a hard look at his lawyer. They
might as well be clear from the start—Devin might not deserve Calla, but she
belonged to him, and Two-Date Howard wasn’t getting in the middle.

Calla laid her palm against his cheek. “How possessive of
you.”

“I listen. Mostly, anyway,” he added when recalling she’d been
right about needing legal advice sooner than later. “You’re sure about
Howard?”

“Juries like him. They find him nonthreatening.”

“As long as you don’t find him hot.”

As an answer, she placed a quick kiss on his lips, then stepped
back. “I realize you two know each other, but we should make it official.
Howard, this is Detective Devin Antonio. Devin, Howard Bleaker, your
attorney.”

Shaking Howard’s hand, Devin overlooked the detail of him never
actually having hired hiring a lawyer. Mostly because, much as he hated to admit
it, he needed help. But probably because he couldn’t say no to her. What mortal
man could?

“What are they charging you with?” Howard asked, laying his
briefcase on the desk.

“Assault.” Devin rubbed the back of his head. A headache was
coming on. As the doctor warned, they happened with little urging these days,
and his current scrape was a guaranteed trigger. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ll give you the details at my place later,” Calla said.
“We’re assembling the team now. Can you get Devin bailed today?”

Howard blinked. Was he confused by the question, or momentarily
dazzled by Calla’s golden splendor? “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said finally,
taking a notepad from his briefcase. “It’s early. We can have him home by
dinnertime.”

“Bring him to my apartment. I’ll feed you both.” She paused,
smiling slightly. “Correction, Shelby, she’s a professional chef, will feed
you.”

“That’s a better gig than jailhouse grub,” Devin commented.

“She’s probably pacing outside the door by now, so I’m gonna
let you two talk.” Calla laid her hand over Howard’s, then turned and kissed
Devin. She lingered longer than anybody ever had in this bleak room. “The gang
has your back,” she murmured against his cheek.

“You’re not a gang,” he said automatically.

She grinned as she moved away. “We are now.”

When the door closed behind her, Howard was the first to speak.
“You know how amazing she is, right?”

“I do.”

“Then we’ll get along fine.”

8

The New York Tattletale

Who Needs Pregnant Pop
Stars

When You’ve Got
the NYPD?

by Peeps
Galloway, Gossipmonger

(And proud of it!)

Yes, fellow gossip compatriots, it’s true. Maybe it was
inevitable. I can now take
apparently
out of my
report on Detective Devin Antonio. Arrested on assault. Charged and arraigned.
Released on bail. It’s traumatic, it’s, it’s...

Delicious.

I mean, you just can’t make this stuff up. (And, believe me,
I’ve tried.) I hear he’s holed up with his lawyer and his pals—at least the ones
who aren’t being interrogated—to prepare his defense. In the meantime, the press
is going nuts, asking tough questions about dirty cops, protection for average
citizens and whether the screening process for the academy ought to be
toughened.

But me? I’m asking the
right
questions. Did he assault his victim because he’d slipped the bartender a twenty
so he could get his pomegranate martini right away, only to have said server
rebuff him for a C-list TV star he obviously wanted to get naked with? Or maybe
his victim cut the line at a shoe sale at Macy’s? Or at a designer sample sale?
(’Cause any and all are more-than-valid defenses in my book.)

Is he dating that blonde, who
must
have a celebrity highlight expert on speed dial? And, even more importantly, who
got the lucky task of strip-searching the sizzling hot cop?

All those questions and more will be answered right here, my
lovelies, if you’re only patient.

I’m kidding, of course! I’m on it. In fact, I’m going to get
an exclusive....

And, yet, there’s a hint of melancholy (yes, I know what the
word means) in this post. I honestly thought Detective Antonio was one of the
good guys.

—Peeps

* * *

“O
UR
JAILBIRD
IS
FREE
,”
Howard said the moment Calla opened her apartment door.

Calla kissed Howard’s cheek, told him to make himself
comfortable in the living room, then, balancing the kitten beneath her arm,
grabbed Devin.

He looked the same, felt the same. But everything had changed.
What had they done to him in the past several hours? Even the thought of the
humiliation and injustice he’d suffered was beyond anything she could
imagine.

“You’re wearing another dress,” he said.

She glanced down at the poppy-red swing dress, straight out of
the fifties. “I shopped. I got Sharky a proper litter box, some food and a
basket to sleep in. Then I saw this in a window. Vintage clothing store plus
nervous energy equals charges dismissed.”

He absently scratched the cat between his ears. “It’s
bright.”

“After that horribly gray interrogation room, plus—you
know—jail, I figured you could use the color.”

“They didn’t keep me in the regular holding cells.”

“Why?”

“They like to kill cops in jail.”

She felt the blood drain from her face.

He pulled her against him, where his heart beat steady and
strong. A small comfort. “That was supposed to make you smile.”

“Yeah. Dying in prison, you’re a real comedian.”

“I waited in a conference room.”

“Oh.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist as they headed down the
hall. “How long do we have to hang out with Howard?” he said in a low voice. “I
was hoping we could be alone.”

“I’ve waited all day to hear the evidence against you. We’re
due to meet Shelby and Victoria and the guys for dinner.” She glanced at her
watch. “In less than an hour.”

“Then let’s get on with this legal stuff.” He slid his
fingertips down her side. “I have other plans for us.”

“Sex?” she whispered, astonished. “You’re thinking about sex
now?”

“No sympathy? I was in jail.”

“You were in a conference room.”

He halted. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

She shifted her body between him and the living room, where
Howard waited with reality and evidence. “You want sex for comfort, or because
you just do?”

“I’m a guy. It’s like eggs.” He brushed his lips across her
cheek. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

The emotion in his eyes was like crystal-clear water. “Look how
good you are at learning to share.”

“Do you have to make me sound like a kindergardener who’s
learned to use a crayon?”

“Yes, because then we’ll get to play.”

By the time Calla and Devin walked into the living room, Howard
had set up a grease board with pictures and a diagram relating to the case
against Devin.

“Is there a slide presentation, too?” Calla asked.

With a bright blue marker in his hand, Howard turned, his
puppy-dog brown eyes blinking behind his overlarge frames. “I could boot up the
laptop, but I figured you’d want the raw data first.”

Calla patted Howard’s shoulder before sitting beside Devin on
the sofa and settling the cat in her lap. “I was kidding, Howard.”

“I’ve developed this new multimedia software for courtroom
presentations.” Howard puffed out his skinny chest. “Not every lawyer has the
charm I do with juries. I think it’s quite effective. Maybe you could give me
some pointers?” He smiled. “You know, from a stunningly hot woman’s
perspective?”

“I haven’t seen a stunningly hot woman on a jury in ten years,”
Devin said, casually laying his arm on the back of the couch behind Calla.

“I’d be glad to give you pointers,” Calla said to Howard after
throwing Devin a chill-out stare. Possessiveness was flattering, but she wanted
to avoid open hostility. They needed Howard.

“So, go ahead, counselor,” Devin said, his sarcasm obvious.
“Give her the happy news. It’s coming up on cocktail hour, and I have big
plans.”

Calla scowled. “I don’t have whiskey.”

“I know a liquor store that delivers.”

“Devin, I don’t think—”

“Do you want to know the dirty details or not?” he
countered.

Calla scoffed. “This whole deal is a crappy frame. Did they
find a crumpled piece of paper on your desk with Forrester’s name on it? How
about a signed confession letter?”

“Not so crappy,” Howard said, putting a series of photos on the
board.

“They found a pipe with my prints on it,” Devin informed her
calmly.

“Don’t forget about the surveillance photos,” Howard added as
Calla gasped.

“B-but,” Calla sputtered. “How? You didn’t hit Forrester.
Surely they’re bluffing, hoping you’ll confess.”

“They’re not,” Howard assured her. “I saw the lab reports.”

“Still believe I’m gonna get out of this with my badge?” Devin
asked.

Calla slumped against the sofa cushions. “And the photos?”

Howard pointed to the board. “Here’s a few. They’re basically
shots of Jimmie in various low-rent areas of town. All handily saved on a data
card in a digital camera obtained via a search on Devin’s apartment.”

Calla straightened. “They can’t just—”

“Seized last night by a warrant,” Howard added.

“While you were here.” Calla sighed. “I suppose your prints
were all over that, too.”

Devin shook his head. “No prints on the camera or data card.
Apparently, I had enough sense to wipe them off.”

“And leave them on the pipe?” Calla asked incredulously.

“I’m a brilliant cop but a terrible crook.” Devin splayed his
hands. “Can’t have everything.”

Calla rubbed her temples, trying to process this latest
disaster. “So whoever hit Jimmie and Devin had the sense to wipe off his prints,
or wear gloves, then wrap Devin’s hand around the pipe while he was unconscious.
And last night, sometime after nine, which was when Devin got here, either
Jimmie or his accomplice broke into Devin’s apartment, planted the camera, then
got out again before the NYPD arrived with their search warrant.”

“The warrant was signed by Judge Cooper at one-twenty a.m.,”
Howard said, writing the number on the board and circling it.

“Let me guess,” Calla began, disgusted by the whole business.
“I’m betting this incredibly convenient instinct to search Devin’s apartment was
arrived at after the ole standby of an anonymous phone call.”

“Brilliant and beautiful,” Howard commented, earning a warning
glare from Devin. “The NYPD won’t say anything about their hunches, but we can
assume an outside tip was involved.”

“Unless the evidence fairy makes house calls,” Devin said
sardonically. “We can also assume my apartment was being watched by Jimmie
and/or his pal.”

“If only we’d stayed at your place,” Calla murmured, gliding
her fingers over Devin’s clenched fist.

“My fault,” he reminded her.

As he stood and walked away from her, Calla tried not to take
his distance personally. The full weight of everything they faced was only now
becoming apparent. Someone had planned this attack against Devin very, very,
carefully. And with the bad guys several steps ahead, the gang had to anticipate
their next moves if they were going to clear Devin’s name and get him
reinstated.

“If they’re watching your apartment, then we should be watching
them,” she suggested.

Devin shook his head. “Fake evidence mission accomplished. Why
would they keep up the surveillance?”

“Any ideas, Howard?” she asked, feeling useless. She was way
out of her element here.

“Nothing concrete. I’d like to go over the time and date stamp
in the digital photos and compile a time line. Maybe some of them are old, or we
can prove Devin was somewhere else when a certain picture was taken.”

Devin looked impressed. “That’s good. Send me the images, and
I’ll go through them on Calla’s computer.”

“Dinner, remember?” Calla crossed her arms over her chest and
tried to look stern. Easy enough, she copied Devin’s usual expression. “You need
to relax and be with friends. After a good night’s sleep, things will look much
clearer.”

Devin’s gaze held hers. Not that they’d gotten much sleep last
night....

Calla cleared her throat as she directed her attention to
Howard. “Shelby’s place is in Chelsea, and we can discuss Devin’s case while we
eat.”

Howard crossed to her, captured her hand and brushed his lips
over the back. “Not tonight, my lovely. Why don’t I make a slide presentation of
the photos in chronological order, then we’ll meet at my office at ten tomorrow
and review Devin’s movements during?”

“Do you two mind if I have a vote in my own life?” Devin asked,
clearly annoyed.

“Yes!” Calla and Howard announced together as Howard helped
Calla to her feet.

Devin pulled Calla’s hand away from the lawyer. “I guess this
is good-night, then.”

They helped Howard with his board and supplies, then fed Sharky
and got him settled in his new basket. After Calla gave the cabbie Trevor and
Shelby’s address, Devin told her, “We need to make a stop first.”

“We don’t. Trevor has better booze than either of us could ever
afford.” She laid her hand on his thigh. “Don’t you think you should stay sharp
so we can brainstorm your defense?”

“Howard has everything under control. You were right, I need to
relax. Tonight that means a good meal, a smooth drink and you.”

Not too long ago she would have considered a statement like
that from him as a delusional fantasy. Maybe he was using her as a crutch to get
him through these terrible events, but she was happy to support him
regardless.

“Who knows how many nights of freedom I have left?” Devin
added.

“Don’t kid about stuff like that. You have plenty.” She laid
her head on his shoulder as he slipped his arm around her waist. “The gang and
I, plus Howard, are all behind you.”

“My instinct is to be alone, you know.”

“I know.”

“Tonight, though, I’m happy to be your plus-one. What’s for
dinner?”

“With Shelby in charge, it’s gotta be something good. And
you’re not an afterthought of this gathering. You’re the guest of honor.”

“That’s what I’m worried about. There are some rampant pair-ups
going on in your gang.”

“If you’re imagining a shotgun wedding, you’ll have to wait
till my dad comes back to town.”

“Thanks for the tip. Escaping to Texas may be my last option.
Think I’d look good in a Stetson?”

“I’ve never seen you look bad in anything, so, yeah, but I
don’t think you’d like Texas.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because they don’t just kill corrupt cops in Texas, they
torture them and bury their bodies in the desert.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Maybe just a little funny.”

As the cab pulled to the curb in front of Shelby’s luxury
high-rise apartment, Devin handed the driver the fare through the window. He
didn’t speak again until they’d been cleared through security and were riding up
in the elevator. “Why don’t you doubt me? There’ve been moments the last few
days that even I’ve wondered if I caught Jimmie in that alley, beat him up then
somehow blocked it out. But your belief in me hasn’t wavered. Why not?”

“It’s not logical,” she said. “You certainly didn’t hit
yourself.”

“Nothing more than common sense?”

She stroked his cheek with the tip of her finger. “I see the
best in you.”

“Can’t be easy,” he muttered.

Laughing, Calla linked arms with him as they exited the
elevator and headed down the hall. Shelby and Trevor’s apartment was
contemporary luxury, with modern decor of steel, glass and marble, and
spectacular views of the Manhattan skyline.

Since Trevor owned a multimillion-dollar transportation
company—not to mention his father was an English earl—the address and size of
their place was expected. And though Shelby’s upbringing and income were a lot
more modest, she’d added love and warmth, so the space suited them both.

And it was a great clubhouse for the gang.