Love me darkly, p.12
Love Me Darkly, page 12
part #1 of Behind The Veil #1 Series
Fishing a pair of nitrile gloves from his pocket, he slid them on and searched every corner and surface of the room. The furniture was modern and stark, hardly used. Few concessions to decorating had been made aside from more plants. There were ferns and rubber trees and pothos tucked away here and there, and an entire shelving unit held a collection of orchids and other exotic flowers, all displayed to their advantage. The supplies to care for them were neatly tucked into a crate in a corner—shears, spray bottle, watering can, fertilizer. Mateo searched under the couches and chairs before moving to the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers. Everything indicated a person who lived alone. The offerings of the refrigerator were sparse and only two sets of dishes and silverware had been stored. Inspecting the walls, he found only a few pieces of modern art. No photos of Melody or her friends and family. No memorabilia or trinkets.
Ducking into the bedroom, he retrieved his flashlight and shined it across the space. It was more colorful in here, decorated in shades of pink, teal, and orange that matched the patterned bedspread. Rugs had been scattered over the hardwood floors to offer comfort and pops of color. A record player sat on a low table in one corner, crates of records stacked beside it. He rifled through the albums, not bothering to stifle his curiosity. Melody, apparently, liked Country music. There was an impressive collection of R&B, Soul, Hip-Hop, and Rock, but an entire crate devoted solely to Country. Apparently, Tracy Chapman was her favorite. He would never have guessed it.
On the other side of the room stood an easel holding a half-painted canvas. Mateo couldn’t tell what was taking shape in the form of oil paint, scraps of paper and magazine clippings, and other odds and ends like paper flowers. It was meant to be an abstract piece, a 3-D painting that exploded with color and life. More canvases of various sizes sat stacked against the wall—paintings of birds and flowers and people and landscapes. Some of them were traditional in style, but others were like the one on the canvas, popping out with 3-D shapes and eye-catching patterns. The last few were the most impressive, silhouettes of women with skin in various shades of brown and striking eyes. Instead of painting their hair, she had used extensions skillfully, adhering braids and dreadlocks and afro puffs to the canvas in various styles. He ran his finger over the orderly braids on one painting; it reminded him of Melody’s hair.
Mateo peered into her closet next, finding that it seemed to belong to two different people. On one side hung her club attire—sexy pieces of leather and denim, sparkling with gems and glitter. On the other side were clothes meant for comfort—worn jeans, t-shirts, sweaters, hoodies, shorts. None of them were designer, the labels worn and faded. The pieces had the soft, worn feel of thrift store clothing and her sexy heels were all knockoffs. Her dresser drawers revealed more of the same—loungewear and pajamas in soft fabrics and feminine colors.
He paused over the lingerie, inspecting lace and silk and cotton with an eye that had shifted from assessing to fascinated. Gritting his teeth, he plunged his hand into the drawer and felt for hidden items, experience telling him the underwear drawer was the first place people thought to hide things. There was nothing, so he pulled himself away from the satin and lace and slammed the drawer closed. On the surface of the dresser, he found an array of bottles and vials, all filled with perfumes. He picked up each one, taking off caps to sniff at various scents. When he pulled the stopper out of a violet glass bottle, the fragrance he was looking for wafted up his nostrils and gripped him in its thrall. Vanilla, musk, and what he now recognized as cinnamon and clove made his mouth water. It was an oil, strong enough that only a few drops would be enough to have her carrying the fragrance all day. He closed his eyes and relived catching wind of her scent for the first time. His cock stirred to half-wakefulness as he imagined her coating two fingers in the fragrant oil and smearing it on her neck, between her breasts, over her navel, between her legs. With a groan, he shoved the stopper back into the bottle and put it back where he’d found it.
Pushing away from the dresser, Mateo went to the bed. He struck gold, coming out from underneath it with a shoebox. He dumped its contents onto the bed and shined his flashlight over them.
First he found a collection of opened envelopes—credit card statements. Mateo frowned at the numbers as he read them. The limit of the credit card was $25,000 and in the name Melody Johnson, though the address on the statements were for a P.O. Box in Baton Rouge. Oddly, there were very few charges, and they weren’t for the sorts of purchases Mateo had expected. The balance was paid on time every month, but she had never used more than a few hundred dollars of available credit a month at hobby shops, grocery stores, and plant nurseries. There was also a basic flip phone that had only made or received calls to one number. There were no text messages, and the thing didn’t even have a camera. Clearly a burner. Lastly, he found a small, palm-sized digital camera. He hadn’t seen one like it since the early 2000s, and it couldn’t have cost much money. But the battery was dead, and the memory card slot was empty, leaving it useless. Taking out his own phone, he quickly saved the single number from Melody’s burner phone, hoping Darcy could assist him with a trace. A burner that had been used to call only one person was definitely a red flag. He then neatly arranged everything in the box and stored it back under the bed before making his way toward the bathroom.
He had just stepped on the tiles when the sound of a key scraping a lock rang out like a gunshot in the quiet apartment. Mateo stilled, listening as Melody’s low, grumbling voice filtered in from the living room. She was talking to someone on the phone.
“Yeah, I know … look, what the hell did you expect me to do? The entire bottle of champagne sprayed all over me and the cork even hit me on the head! I’m not going an entire shift with a bottle of Dom on my clothes … I said I’d be back as fast as I can … they can manage until I get back … yeah, okay, whatever … I’m hanging up now.”
Mateo was forced into movement as her voice grew louder, closer. The bathroom door had already been hanging open, so he ducked behind it and angled himself so he wouldn’t be seen. He closed his eyes and held his breath, counting her footsteps, listening to the sound of her boots hitting the floor. She mumbled to herself between whispers of clothes coming off, words he couldn’t decipher. She sounded pissed. He heard the click of hangers in the closet, then more rustling. Then, her footsteps sounded off again, coming in his direction.
Fuck.
Mateo braced himself, his every muscle tense and coiled to spring. He would have to move fast once she laid eyes on him. The blinding light poured onto him from overhead, stinging his eyes. He heard the faucet turn on, then a thump and a curse. Then, the door was swinging away from him, slamming into the casing. Her stunned eyes went wide, and her lips parted on a scream that never came. Mateo had a hand clapped over her mouth before she could make a sound and an arm around her waist before she could flee. She issued a muffled scream against his palm and bucked in his hold, fingers clawing at his wrist. He propelled her back against the door, trapping her there with his body.
“Melody … Melody, stop … wait … goddamn it, listen!”
She went still at the sharp command in his voice, but those wide, frightened eyes darted left to right, as if looking for an escape route. She whimpered and shook her head, as if silently begging him not to hurt her.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I can explain, but I need you to stay calm. I need to show you something, but I have to let you go to do that. Can you promise not to scream? I won’t hurt you.”
She seemed to consider this for a moment before giving him an abrupt nod. Maintaining her gaze, he reached into his back pocket for his credentials. He flipped the leather billfold open and held it up. He hadn’t wanted to play this hand so quickly, or even at all if he could help it. But there was no way he could talk himself out of this without relying on at least a part of the truth.
“Supervisory Special Agent Garcia. FBI.”
“Oh, God,” she whimpered, closing her eyes. “Oh, God. No … no.”
He narrowed his eyes and catalogued every nuance of her reaction. Was that guilt he detected swirling with the fear in her eyes? Or something else?
“I knew it,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I knew something wasn’t right about you.”
Mateo snorted. “And I know there isn’t something right about you. Who are you, really?”
She jutted out her chin in a way that made Mateo want to bite it, before consuming her mouth. “Melody Johnson.”
“Bullshit.”
Grunting in frustration, she stomped one foot. “Look, I can’t do this anymore. Tell me what you want and then get out.”
“I want the truth, Melody. Suede, Wilson, and Morrison. How do you know them?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “They hang out at the club at least three nights a week. I’m almost always on VIP, so they know me by name. That’s all.”
Mateo snapped his credentials closed and shoved them back into his pocket. “So, a pimp, a dirty cop, and a shipping magnate walk into a bar—”
“What my customers do outside the club is none of my business.”
“And what about what goes on inside the club? Incriminating conversations? Back-room dealings?”
She backed away from him, clearing the bathroom door. “I don’t know what you have on these guys, but I can promise you it’s only the tip of the iceberg. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
Was that a threat? There was no underlying menace in her words, but he couldn’t ignore the gravity in her tone. There was also the fact that she looked downright terrified. Mateo followed her out of the bathroom, taking a forward step for each of her backward ones. He tracked her into the living room until she came against the coffee table, arms wheeling as she went off balance. Mateo grasped her by the waist to steady her, but found himself unable to let go once his hands had made contact. She was so fragile in his hold, slender and trembling. His suspicion that she was in some kind of trouble reached its peak. A person with dirty hands would be defensive, answering his questions with questions and dissembling.
Melody did none of those things. She only looked at him with wide eyes and said, “If they even suspect you’re on to them, it’s already too late.”
Mateo tightened his hold and pulled her closer. “How would you know that?”
She bit her lip and cast her eyes down. “I can’t tell you.”
Mateo heaved a sigh, possessed with the urge to shake her. “Why not?”
“Because I have to look out for myself. It’s the only way I know to stay alive.”
Mateo’s eyebrows snapped together, and he searched for her eyes, for the truth. He had thought coming here would show him what he could not see. For sure, he had confirmed what he’d known all along. Melody wasn’t who she claimed to be. But that was as far as his visit to the apartment had taken him. There was nothing else; not unless he could get her to open up to him.
“If you tell me what you know, I can protect you.”
She laughed, the sound dry and humorless. Her hands came up to his chest, pushing as if to create some distance between them. Mateo refused to let go, molding her so tight against him he could feel her heartbeat. It hammered as fast and wild as his, pounding against her ribs.
“You aren’t the first man to promise me protection,” she snarled. “You aren’t even the first one with a badge. In the end, no man has ever given me anything without taking from me in return, and I always come out on the shit end when it’s all over.”
Something deep within him reacted viscerally to the vulnerability in her gaze. He still wanted to shake her, but when he was finished he wanted to pull her against his body and hold her tight. It was the headiest, most ridiculous thing he’d ever felt. He wasn’t certain how to feel about it.
“You underestimate the amount of pull I have with the bureau. I could have you in witness protection with a phone call.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll take my chances.”
“With Suede, Wilson, and Morrison?’
She shook her head slowly, a warning in her gaze. “If you think that’s as deep as it goes, then I know you can’t protect me.”
Mateo growled his frustration. “This is the only warning you’re going to get. I’m coming for anyone involved the operation. My search on you hasn’t turned up anything … yet. But it will. And if I find out you’ve had anything to do with the trafficking, the drugs, the murders, I will take you down, too.”
Instead of continuing to fight him, Melody inched closer, putting her face nearly against his. There was a challenge lighting up her eyes, taunting him.
“Do what you gotta do. But while you’re at it, maybe consider that your investigation doesn’t involve you watching me at the club, or stalking me to my apartment, or dancing with me, or …”
She shook her head as if uncertain how to put the rest. Hell, Mateo wouldn’t know how to express it either.
“No,” he agreed, pulled in until the tip of his nose brushed along hers. “It doesn’t.”
He was moving without thinking, acting without discipline or restraint. It had begun to leech away from him the moment he’d pulled her against his body.
“My investigation doesn’t require me to think about you constantly, or worry that you’re in trouble, or fantasize about you dancing in that cage. It doesn’t require me to remember dancing with you like we were fucking with our clothes on and get so fucking hard I can’t think straight. It doesn’t require me to be obsessed with the smell of you, the vanilla and the musk, and …” he pressed his nose into her neck and inhaled, his breath coming out on a shaky exhale. “I can’t get it out of my head. I can’t get you out of my head.”
Her chest heaved with labored breaths as she stared at him without blinking. She slowly brought her hands up to his chest. Her chin trembled, but she steadied it and then tipped it up. “You can’t. I can’t. We … we can’t.”
No, they couldn’t. They shouldn’t. But Mateo had lost hold of logic a while ago. His defenses had crumbled into rubble at his feet, and nothing could have stopped him from acting on the urge that had fallen on him the second she’d tipped up her chin as if offering her lips. As if daring him to take what he knew he shouldn’t.
He gripped her jaw. “I have to. I have to.”
She whimpered as he closed in, then moaned against his lips, lighting him on fire like a single match stroke in a gasoline-soaked room. He went up in flames, consuming her with all the hunger tearing him up inside. He devoured her mouth with hungry pushes and pulls, forgoing any attempt at finesse or skill. He couldn’t think past the taste of her, the smell of her, the feel of her. Her lips were even softer than he’d expected, welcoming him in an embrace of flesh.
She kissed him back with just as much fervor, her hands sliding up until they were tangled in his hair. Her fingers tightened, wrapping around the strands, and he hissed against her mouth from the sharp sting. He tightened his hold on her jaw and tipped her head up, plunging his tongue in. She met it with her own, shuddering when wet flesh slid against wet flesh.
They were moving, feet scuffling and legs tangling as they went at each other, lips meeting and parting, tongues stroking, breaths panting. His back hit a wall, and she fell into him, hands reaching, touching him, sliding everywhere. His shoulders, his back, his arms. She grasped his hands and put them back to her waist, silently commanding him to hold her closer, tighter. He obliged, one arm banding around her waist and squeezing her against him until he was surprised she could breathe. But he could supply her air, and he did, groaning and gasping while feeling like he was drowning himself. He palmed her ass and squeezed, flexing his hips so she could feel how hard he was. Mateo descended into a place where there was only physical sensation. Melody kissing him, licking him, biting his lip. Melody squirming against him, her breasts teasing his chest, the mound between her legs teasing his cock.
He reversed their positions, spinning her so that her back pressed to the wall in his place. He grasped her thigh and wrenched it upward, opening her. She wrapped it around his hips and used it to anchor him, holding him between her legs. He took the other leg up and lifted her, pressing in, crowding her against the wall, all without breaking the seal of their lips.
But then there was more.
There was the line of her jaw, sharp and regal as he traced it with his lips. There was the point of her pulse, throbbing and thrumming against his tongue. There was the slender column of her neck, angled perfectly for him to taste. He took deep pulls of that intoxicating fragrance, trembling at the way it suffused him, a vapor entangling with his blood. He was drowning, falling and flying, melting and hardening at the same time.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Melody,” she moaned. “Just Melody.”
He growled, biting her lip until she squealed. “Who. Are. You?”
She bit him back, harder than he had, until he tasted blood. She narrowed her eyes when he jerked his head back and licked at the copper drop. “Melody.”
At least she had dropped the ‘Johnson.’ They both knew her to be an illusion. She slid out of his grasp, and Mateo took a step back, then another. His lips tingled and his blood roared in his ears, almost blocking out her voice. It penetrated the haze, and he blinked, focusing on her mouth.
“I won’t help you,” she declared. “But I won’t rat you out either.”
Mateo wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, coming away with another drop of blood. The sight and taste of it didn’t affect him like it should. It made him want to press her back against that wall and brave her teeth again. It made him want to spill his blood at her feet until she was satisfied. It made his cock twitch at the thought that he’d like to return the favor.
