A Fine Specimen Page 6

  “Alex.”

  “Alex,” she repeated, feeling hunted. 7:56. “There’s no reason at all for you to feel that way. Captain Avery didn’t expect you to look out for me. All he asked was for you and your officers to give me some of your time.”

  “Ray sent you. Frankly, he would have my head if I let you wander around Riverhead all on your own at night.”

  Caitlin gritted her teeth and swallowed her words. She knew perfectly well she looked younger than her years. Part of it was that she dressed so badly. She simply didn’t have the money to dress as an adult out in the working world. But the combination of her looks and her clothes had people constantly underestimating her and it rankled. She wasn’t a dummy and she wasn’t without street smarts. “I won’t be wandering around, Lieu— Alex. I have every intention of being careful, believe me. I know how to behave in dangerous areas. You really don’t need to worry at all.”

  Caitlin might as well have been talking to the wind. He’d taken hold of her elbow again in a grip that was just shy of painful and totally unbreakable. She was being walked toward a side door and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it, unless she wanted to create a scene or leave her elbow behind. A big clock in the lobby showed the time. 8:00.

  Hell, she though. The bus has gone.

  They exited through the side door into a parking lot. The lieutenant—Alex—pressed something in his jacket pocket and a sleek black car in a slot with “Lt. Cruz” stenciled on the brick wall in front of it unlocked its doors for him with an expensive-sounding whump. It wasn’t enough that he had police officers and herself obeying him, Caitlin thought resentfully. Even his car sprang to attention, damn his hide.

  Caitlin sighed and thought of her ancient car, Marvin, named after a particularly limp boyfriend who, like his namesake, often left her flat when she needed him most. Marvin—the car—had died a geriatric death last month and she simply had no money to replace it. It hadn’t had a remote-control opening or power steering or air conditioning. She was lucky it had had four tires, though all of them were bald.

  Alex opened the passenger door for her, releasing her arm only when she was settled in the passenger seat. “Seat belt,” he said as he slid behind the wheel, cop to the end.

  “Yes sir.”

  He glanced over, not visibly disturbed by her slightly acerbic tone. “It’s the law, you know.”

  Caitlin probably knew the law better than he did. The law wasn’t the problem, he was. “Well, the law certainly doesn’t say anything about feeling responsible for me or having to accompany me to my hotel.”

  He backed quickly, skillfully out of the slot. “The law might not be clear on that point, Ms. Summers, but there are rules.”

  “Caitlin,” she said on a sigh. “If you’re going to babysit me, we might as well be on first-name terms.”

  Traffic was heavy. The ride took almost forty minutes. Twilight was edging into night by the time Alex pulled up in front of the decayed old hotel which had never seen better days.

  Across the street from the Carlton was a burned-out apartment building. To the right was a rubble-strewn empty lot and to the left was a boarded-up building which, according to the poster on the splintered door, had been condemned by the city authorities, though no one had cared enough to actually demolish it.

  The instant they’d entered Riverhead at the Madison Street turnoff, the change was startling, like day into night. The few people on the streets were badly dressed, some stumbling, some simply standing, eyes blank, high on the drug or drink of their choice. The buildings were old, built when people had stoops to beat the summer heat. Many of the stoops had people sitting listlessly on the steps, a bottle between their legs, staring indifferently at the few cars that drove by.

  Riverhead had twice the number of reported crimes as the rest of Baylorville, but the real figure was much higher. Most of the crimes went unreported, for the simple reason that most of the victims were criminals themselves. There was, on average, a murder every three days, two rapes a week, four muggings a day and countless episodes of domestic violence. About four million dollars in drugs changed hands every day.

  Then again, drug dealing was just about the only viable economic activity in the neighborhood.

  The life expectancy of Riverhead residents was thirty years less than that of the residents of the rest of the city, and for a good reason. If you lived here, you were poor and either a drug addict or an alcoholic, maybe even both. Either that or you were married to one or your parents were in the life. There was almost no hope of escape from here except feet first in a coffin, which happened to a statistically significant portion of the teenagers in Riverhead.

  Alex had grown up here—six blocks down and an alley over from the Carlton, actually. Even what had passed for his family—a drunk of a mother and a drug-addict father—had grown up here. Riverhead was in his genes. He’d been destined from birth to live here and to die here. His fate was to end up like the other lost souls in Riverhead—to live fast, die young and leave a big stain.

  Thank God for Ray.

  Alex remembered the Carlton from his misspent youth. The Carlton was where businessmen from the downtown area used to take the young, easy women of Riverhead for an hour on their lunch break for a quick fuck.

  No mistresses down here in Riverhead, no fancy ladies set up in luxury flats, no expensive call girls. The women here were lucky to get ten bucks for a blowjob in a car, maybe twenty for a longer session in the Carlton, which helpfully rented by the hour.

  A few years ago, there had been a fleeting interest in cleaning up Riverhead. The Carlton had been painted and the roof repaired, just enough of an effort to make it look like a semi-respectable hotel. But now the paint was peeling again and Alex suspected that it was being used for things more dangerous than a little illicit love.

  He parked directly in front of the entrance, figuring that the dim glow cast by the entrance porch light might be enough to keep the scumbags from boosting his hubcaps for, oh, maybe fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops.

  Alex killed the engine. “Welcome to the Ritz,” he said dryly, looking over at Caitlin. She’d been very quiet on the trip out, watching out the window as the scenery grew danker and grimmer.

  Shit, she was so fucking out of place here. Right now, in the uncertain light of the flickering lamp over the Carlton’s entrance, she looked twelve and helpless. In some parts of the world that was a guarantee of safety, but not here. Not in Riverhead. Here, what she signaled was—come and get me.

  “It isn’t much, is it?” Caitlin said quietly.

  Fuck no, it wasn’t.

  Alex came around to the passenger door and opened it. She stepped out onto the cracked pavement.

  A bell echoed distantly as Alex pushed down on the heavy brass handle of the hotel’s front door and shouldered it open. He let Caitlin pass then followed her in. His disapproving gaze took in the peeling wallpaper and cracked flooring.

  His disapproval turned to fury when he saw that the front desk was unattended, the keys hanging on a plywood board.

  “What’s your room number?” he murmured to Caitlin.

  “Four forty-six,” she replied. “Why?”

  Alex reached across the front desk and lifted her key from its hook. He pocketed it just as a dark-skinned man with a stained turban came in from a side door, still chewing something. The smell of curry wafted in from behind the door. The man’s polite smile turned genuinely welcoming when he saw Caitlin. “Ah, Ms. Summers. Good evening.”

  “Good evening, Hassan.”

  “You want key? Number four forty-six. Is right?” He searched the board. “That is strange…” Hassan turned back to them and froze when he saw Alex’s hand holding a BPD shield two inches from his nose, Alex’s face right behind it. “S-s-sir?”

  “Baylorville Police Department,” Alex growled, trying to contain his anger. This dirtbag could get Caitlin raped or killed. “You are very lucky today, Hassan, because I am not going to
haul your sorry ass downtown on a charge of reckless endangerment. Nor am I going to inquire about your status with Immigration.”

  Hassan turned pasty white under his dusky complexion.

  Alex dangled Caitlin’s key in front of him. “Listen up, Hassan, because I’m only going to say this once. Never, ever leave this key unattended. If you absolutely have to leave the front desk, you take Ms. Summers’ key with you. If you don’t, and if someone gets into Ms. Summers’ room and she gets hurt, I will personally make it my business to see that you are put away for the rest of your natural life.” Alex’s gaze was fierce. He meant Every. Fucking. Word. “Is that clear?”

  Hassan jumped. “Yessir, yes! Yes indeed.” He placed his hands together and bowed his head. “Most clear.”

  Alex stared at him for another long moment then put a hand to Caitlin’s back and walked her to the battered steel doors of the elevator.

  Caitlin was silent until the doors closed and the elevator started creaking slowly upward. She rounded on him. “How dare you speak to poor Hassan like that! There was no need whatsoever to terrify him like you did.”

  “Are you joking? There was every need!” The elevator jerked to a stop and Alex stepped warily out into the corridor. The lighting in the hallway was dim and there were pockets of darkness down its length. Room 446 was at the end of the corridor. “Anyone could just walk in off the street and grab your key.” The thought of it had him in a sweat. It would take nothing to notice her, follow her back to the hotel and find out what room she was in. Then steal the key while ol’ Hassan was in the back office scarfing curry rice.

  Caitlin wasn’t listening. “Hassan only arrived in this country from Pakistan a year ago. He’s working to save money so he can study agronomy, and here you are, frightening the poor man to death. Threatening to call Immigration, for heaven’s sake! I’m sure he’s got his green card, but still— Alex? What are you doing?”

  Alex used the key to open the door to room 446, though the lock was so flimsy he could have picked it in two seconds. He stood to the side of the door, opened it, scanned the room then stepped inside. A few more large steps took him to the opposite wall. The Carlton didn’t exactly splurge on space. He quickly checked the small closet and the even smaller bathroom.

  Caitlin was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed. “Well?” she asked sweetly. “No dope fiends hiding under the bed? No serial killers in the shower stall?”

  “Nope.” Alex walked back to her. Caitlin’s skin seemed to glow in the faint light from the corridor. Her pale blue eyes widened slowly as he approached, his eyes never leaving hers.

  Alex picked up her hand and pressed the key into it, his fist closing over hers. Her hand was slender and soft, and to his surprise, he couldn’t let go. His brain seemed to stop functioning, though the cop in him noticed Caitlin’s irregular breathing, the way her eyes were fixed on his mouth then rose to meet his eyes, the way her soft, pale pink lips parted…

  Without thinking about it, without planning it, without even wanting it, he found himself bending down to her. Her wide blue eyes watched him then drifted shut as his mouth closed over hers.

  He could feel her breath sighing out as her mouth opened under his. He moved closer, one hand behind her head to hold her still for his kiss, the other around her narrow waist.

  Alex had a number of very, very good reasons not to do this.

  A. Though Caitlin Summers was twenty-eight, she looked like a teenager. And though Alex was technically only thirty-eight in human years, he was about one hundred ninety-seven in cop years. This was not a good match.

  B. He liked his women savvy and experienced and unbreakable. He was a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of guy, always had been, always would be. He wasn’t looking for a relationship.

  C. This girl—woman—had relationship written all over that gorgeous face.

  D. Ray had sent her. She was Ray’s student, sort of like his daughter. Ray was the closest thing to a father he’d ever had. Sex with this woman would be like…like incest. Wouldn’t it?

  E. She was going to be in the cop shop for a whole week, messing with his head. Sex would make it worse, make him fumble, make him lose his mojo—because knowing she was around would make him think with his cock instead of his head…

  He never got to F because the heat in his dick fried his logic circuits. Her mouth tasted as luscious as it looked, without the syrupy sensation of lipstick he now realized he hated. She was so delicious he didn’t even do what he usually did—make it a delicate, tentative kiss until he got signs from the woman that his advance was welcome.

  No, sir. He dove in, licking, sucking, biting, as if she were a cream puff and he were a starving man.

  It was like plunging into a sea of warm, fragrant flowers that caressed him back.

  She moved her arms to cling to his neck and dropped her heavy book bag right onto his foot, probably breaking a few small bones. He didn’t give a shit. That same heavy heat that took out his brain cells had zapped down to his feet to remove his pain receptor cells too. He felt no pain whatsoever and impatiently shoved the bag out of his way with his foot because it created maybe half an inch of distance between them and that was totally intolerable. He had to be as close to her as it was physically possible to be. Closer. His grip tightened as he angled his head for a deeper taste of her, so incredibly delicious he would have laughed if his mouth had been free.

  His cock was having a good time too, way up, hard as steel and happily rubbing against the lips of her sex. The flimsy material of her dress and panties couldn’t hide the shape of her. He could feel it all, every little ripple through the cloth. If this was so great that it felt like the top of his head would come off, wouldn’t feeling her naked flesh be better?

  Oh yeah.

  Alex’s right hand moved from her waist. It took only a second to bunch that lightweight skirt over his wrist as his hand slowly rode up that long, soft thigh, arrowing straight toward…

  Ahh!

  That was it. He cupped her in the palm of his hand, tightly. They gasped at the same time, out of excitement and to get some oxygen, their lips never parting, then Alex kissed her again, harder, deeper. It was so great he almost forgot what his right hand was doing. Almost. There was something hugely annoying under his hand, keeping him out. Impatient, he tugged viciously, barely noticing the ripping sound because his fingers were there, sliding through the soft, wet heart of her. Softer than the finest silk. He outlined her with the tip of his finger.

  She moaned when he entered her with one finger, then two. The sound of her moan echoed in his mouth.

  She was so wet and so impossibly tight. His entire world had narrowed to his mouth, his cock and his fingers. There was no way he could get his cock in her without stretching her first. He separated his fingers and she jolted wildly, shaking. With every breath came a little moan, as if she couldn’t help herself.

  And then he felt his fingers pulsing and with the few brain cells left, he wondered if his hand was coming.

  No, it wasn’t his hand—it was Caitlin Summers. Coming.

  He’d never felt anything like it. Her little cunt contracted against his fingers in rhythmic waves, her entire body welling up against him, bursting with joy. She came against his mouth, against his chest, against his hand, in long swells rippling through her body.

  Alex had unzipped himself—God! The release felt so good!—and was holding his cock, ready to plunge inside her, when he pulled out of the kiss for a fraction of a second. He needed air.

  Looking down, he froze.

  Caitlin looked pale, shocked, lost. Wide blue eyes alarmed, soft mouth open, wet from his own.

  Jesus. She was panting and shaking, completely out of her depth. This wasn’t some easy lay, happy to have a quickie against a hotel doorframe. With the door still open. What the fuck was he thinking?

  Alex stepped back for a second and winced as he looked down at his inflamed cock, huge and red. He withdrew his hand, sliding
it out of her. Her skirt dropped back down over her legs and Caitlin was restored to a semblance of dignity. He, on the other hand, was standing there with his cock jutting from his unzipped pants, hard as a rock, weeping drops of come. He looked like an ass.

  Alex hadn’t lost control of himself like this since…since when? Not even in high school. Hell, especially not in high school. He’d had so much sex in high school there was no way it would have thrown him like this. He was so incredibly excited simply because it had been a long, long time since he’d gotten laid. Now wasn’t when he should be making up for lost time. The world was full of women to fuck, now that his hormones had been kick-started.

  He took another step back as he tried to stuff himself back into his pants, wincing with pain. It fucking hurt.

  He bent to pick up a ripped piece of material from the floor. Her panties. Oh Jesus. He’d fucking ripped her panties off. Alex was smooth, he didn’t do ripped panties. What the hell was wrong with him?

  “Here.” His voice came out a croak. He cleared his throat. “Here,” he repeated. “I’m sorry I, um, tore them.”

  She was standing there, staring at him, soft mouth slightly open. He picked up her hand and placed the torn panties in her palm. “Sorry,” he said again.

  “That’s okay.” Her voice was breathless. She looked down at her hand, holding a now-useless piece of material that used to be underwear, looking like a ten-year-old whose doll had been smashed by a bully.

  Her hair was even more disheveled than usual from his fingers. Strands which had escaped the ponytail curled around her face, lying in gleaming coils along her slender shoulders.

  He had to get out of there or he’d push her onto that rickety bed with the stained bedspread and climb right on top of her. Slide right into that warm little cunt, soft and welcoming. Start fucking, hard. Because he wanted that so badly he was shaking. He stepped back.

  “Lock the door after me and put a chair under the handle.” His voice came out harsh and guttural.