Love me darkly, p.22
Love Me Darkly, page 22
part #1 of Behind The Veil #1 Series
“You called me baby girl just now. And you did it earlier when you were …”
“Making love to you,” he filled in. He had no choice but to call it what it had been. He hadn’t approached a woman with such purpose and attentiveness since Mari. Learning about Melody’s background and what it implied, he had suffered no end of guilt over his handling of her in the storage room. It had been one of the rawest, uninhibited sexual experiences of his life, but he had been driven primarily by his own need. His need to placate the brute inside of him that craved to possess every inch of her. Tonight had been about atoning for that, for giving her no less than she deserved. He wasn’t ready yet to grapple with what it might mean.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
“It kind of just came out before I could think about whether you would like it.”
“I did like it.”
She sounded almost ashamed of the fact, which sent another laugh up out of his throat. He turned on his side to face her.
“It fits, you know.”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “It’s cute, but you have to admit it’s a little misogynistic. I’m neither a baby nor a girl.”
He traced a fingertip along the line of her jaw. “But you have a baby-doll face. A sweet face. Therefore, you’re a baby girl … my baby girl.”
She chewed her lip thoughtfully, studying him in silence for a moment before she responded. “You shouldn’t say things like that to a girl like me.”
“And what kind of girl is that?”
“The kind who’s never known tenderness or love. The kind who might take you seriously and get the wrong idea.”
The same visceral reaction that had swept over him when she’d disagreed with his opinion of her reared its ugly head. He tightened his hold on her until she gasped, as if fighting for air. He eased his arm a bit but didn’t let go.
“In the short time you have known me, have I given you any indication that I am anything but serious?”
That got a giggle out of her. “You got me there. I can imagine you terrify the shit out of your suspects.”
“Certainly seemed to unsettle Suede.” He cringed. “Shit. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Said what?” she teased, grasping his point.
He slipped a hand beneath the comforter and ran his hand down her belly. Encountering her mound and the landing strip of dark hairs leading the path to her seam, he had a sudden thought. Yanking the blanket down, he reached for the flashlight on the nightstand. The lamp wasn’t bright enough for him to see what he was looking for.
“What are you doing?” she asked, squirming under him as he pointed the light at her lower belly.
“I saw something earlier and wanted to get a better look.”
She went still as the light illuminated a tattoo. Etched from hipbone to hipbone was a vine in black and gray lines and shaded dark green. Along the vine, little roses bloomed, most of them in a shade of rich, deep red. A single blossom toward the middle was shaded a vibrant golden yellow.
“It’s gorgeous,” he murmured, sensing that it meant something to her. All of his tattoos were personal, and Melody seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t take permanently inking her skin lightly.
He traced a finger over the vine, finding puckered, raised skin beneath it. It was a scar, he realized, and it was thick and ropey, as if it hadn’t healed properly. It was only visible when he was close, but he could feel the devastation beneath his fingers.
“What happened?”
He turned off the flashlight and put it aside, laying his head on her belly and keeping his hand over the tattoo. She rested her hand on his head and twined her fingers in his hair.
“I had to have a partial hysterectomy when I was nineteen,” she whispered.
Mateo stiffened, his entire body reacting to the weight of her words. He was pinned beneath them, incapable of moving or breathing as he digested what she’d just said.
“I contracted PID after a bad back-alley abortion. My first pimp, Darrell—D-Ray—he got me pregnant. Got mad at me, as if I had done it to myself.”
“Dick,” Mateo muttered.
“The biggest dick. He wouldn’t even take me to a decent clinic. I was terrified. I wasn’t ready to be a mother at nineteen, but I didn’t want an abortion. I don’t know what I was thinking … that maybe a baby could be my way out. Having a kid would make me a burden and diminish my worth. D-Ray would let me go. Other girls who’d had babies had disappeared, and I never knew for sure where they went. I convinced myself they had somehow escaped.”
Mateo’s chest squeezed and he winced. He’d been extensively trained on the methods of pimps, who knew how to target young, naïve girls with no safe place to turn. By the time the girls understood what was happening to them, it was almost always too late. The trap would have snared them.
“He forced you to go through with it,” he choked out.
“Yes. And afterward, I was in so much pain, and I got so sick. One day, I just collapsed and then woke up in the hospital. I had contracted an infection … the instruments used for my abortion likely weren’t properly sterilized. I almost died.”
Mateo’s hand slipped to her waist and held tight, his stomach giving a lurch at the thought of her dying.
“I had to undergo an aggressive round of antibiotics and ... I lost one ovary and both my fallopian tubes. So, you know … you can’t get me pregnant or anything. Still get a fucking period every month, even after all that. Ain’t that a bitch?”
Mateo squeezed his eyes shut, the roiling sensation in his gut worsening in its violence. Something within him fractured at the thought of what had been stolen from her. Even if she had decided to abort the first baby eventually, there might have been a chance in the future for another, when she was free enough and stable enough to care for it. But then, Mateo saw the thought for the fantasy it was. He knew very well that girls like Melody rarely made it out. It brought him no comfort to think it might have been for the best in the end. A woman in her position would be in constant fear of getting pregnant or contracting a disease.
“I’m not working anymore,” she said suddenly, as if reading his mind. “And I … I’m clean.”
Mateo raised his head to look at her. “I never doubted that. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“Yes, I do. I lied to you.”
“You didn’t technically lie. You gave me enough hints that I should have understood. I usually have a keen sense for these things, but you’re different. In some ways, you’re incredibly easy to read, and in others you’re a mystery.”
He didn’t add that his burning attraction to her had clouded his judgment, and probably still did.
She snorted sarcastically. “You think you’re easy to read?”
“I imagine I’m not. But then, it’s all due to my training. It’s not just about reading people or understanding them. There’s a balancing act at play. You have to show people what you want them to see and hide the cards in your deck.”
“You’re good at that,” she remarked. “Now that I know what you are, it fits. But when I was trying to guess what job had brought you to town, I would never have guessed FBI. After seeing that tat on your arm, I assumed military.”
“I was an army ranger before I joined the bureau. Did four tours in Afghanistan.”
She stroked a finger down his arm, tracing over the battlefield cross tattooed on his bicep. “What was it like over there?”
Mateo hesitated before answering. Typically, when people asked about his past service and deployments, they were fishing for the gory details. The people he had killed and the things he had seen. They wanted to stick their fingers into his wounds and draw blood, amuse themselves at his expense. It had always made him feel like a circus attraction, and he hated it almost as much as being fawned over because he was a veteran. It was embarrassing and frankly degrading.
But he didn’t sense that sort of intention in her tone. His immediate reaction was to brush her off and change the subject. But after what she had just shared with him, and after she had trusted him with her body, he had no right to hold her at arm’s length. There might still be secrets between them, but Mateo had given her very little choice in the matter. He had pried into her life until exposing her, not thinking of how painful that might be. He owed her something in return.
“It wasn’t all blood and bullets, you know,” he said. “A lot of it was waiting. So much goddamn waiting, sitting around in the blistering fucking heat, drinking warm water that tastes like metal. And in some places, there was nothing but sand as far as the eye could see. It got everywhere and into everything no matter what we did—our boots, our ears, our fucking teeth. I swear I brought home buckets of sand after every tour, no matter how well I shook my stuff out before packing it. There were missions, of course, and sometimes they spanned for days. I’m talking melting like a candle under layers of Kevlar and polyester while watching off the sides of cliffs for approaching vehicles, or shivering with your balls in your throat while lurking in dark caves watching for hostile contact. But in between them, there was so much time to sit around, missing home. You came to learn real quick how precious word from home can be. A letter, an email, a rare phone call. You lived for those moments.”
“Sounds lonely. You must have missed your family.”
Mateo wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He hadn’t met Mari until after his final deployment. His career was winding down at the time, and he’d been looking forward to retirement and a life beyond the army. The only people he had missed during his deployment were his parents and grandparents, as well as his cousins, aunts, and uncles. He had definitely missed home, family dinners and parties. But that dull ache had been nothing like life without Mari and Angelica. His new career had taken him away from them enough to result in guilt and the ache of missing important life events. It wasn’t even close to being the same.
“You kind of form a new family over there,” he said. “Your brothers. You’re relying on each other to survive and we’re all only as strong as the weakest man. It makes for a unique sort of bond.”
He fell silent after that, growing pensive as the faces of his past haunted his memory. So many of them hadn’t come home, and it hurt to remember them, to feel in some way responsible for a few of those deaths.
Fortunately, Melody seemed to sense they were brushing up against dangerous territory. “So … you were off today? You looked like you had been shopping or something when you came in.”
“I took the day. Got tired of being couped up in the field office. Not much we can do until some red tape gets cleared.”
She fell silent again and this time it was tense. Mateo searched her face, finding that she seemed anxious again.
“Korenic will be back soon,” she said eventually.
“I know.”
“He won’t be happy about those raids.”
“I’m counting on it. If he’s pissed off, he’ll act rashly. He’ll make mistakes. Make it easier for me to crush him.”
She shivered and he held her tighter, stilling her. “You really think you can do that?”
“My track record says I can and will. But enough about that. Did you eat dinner? I could order something in.”
“That sounds amazing, actually. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
Mateo frowned. He didn’t like that. “We’d better do something about that. But don’t let me hear you haven’t been eating properly again. Three squares a day, Melody.”
She gave him a sheepish smile. “Yes, sir.”
Mateo grunted, reaching for his phone and pulling up a delivery app. “Now, what’ll it be, baby girl?”
He sat against the headboard, and she leaned against him, watching him scroll the options. She chose a Thai place that was open late, then disappeared into the bathroom after placing her order, returning a few minutes later with a fresh scent of soap and wearing his white bathrobe. Before climbing back into bed, she took up his flashlight, then sat straddling his hips. Shining the light on his chest, she grinned.
“Now, it’s my turn to play find-the-tattoo. You’ve been hiding some body art from me.”
Mateo stiffened as she illuminated the portrait of Mari. He had forgotten he wasn’t wearing a shirt until that moment, and suddenly wished he could cover himself. A wave of something sickening washed over him, and he couldn’t figure out whether it was guilt, shame, or fear. She traced a finger over the tattoo, over Mariana’s face and the wreath of marigolds beneath her image. She swirled her fingers over the text he had requested be scrawled underneath it—a Spanish phrase.
Mi pequeña estrella. My little star.
He had called Mariana that often, because that was exactly what she had been—his light in a dark, fathomless sky. A beacon of hope and peace that had drawn him home every time.
“What happened to her?” she asked, laying her hand flat over the tattoo. “She was beautiful.”
“She … died,” he hedged. “A year ago.”
Her face crumbled, as if his words had broken her heart. “Oh, Mateo … I’m so sorry.”
He reached up to cup her face. “So am I.”
To his relief, she didn’t ask how it had happened. She simply lifted the flashlight and resumed her inspection. She took another look at the tattoo on his left bicep.
“Army tat,” she murmured.
“Battlefield cross,” he corrected.
“Very manly.”
She swung the light to his other arm. Inclining her head, she leaned in to take a closer look. A black and gray shaded image of Lady Justice took up almost the entire arm from his shoulder to his elbow, but it wasn’t a traditional depiction. The surface of her skin was cracked as if she’d been tipped over and then set right again. The sword in her hand was coated with blood at the tip—the only color in the piece—and dripped into a puddle at her feet. Her blindfold was ripped and hanging loose on one side, revealing an eye that dripped tears.
“Wow,” she whispered. “The detail is incredible. It’s amazing work.”
“I was lucky to find a good artist back home in Cali.”
“I didn’t know you were a California boy,” she said with a little laugh.
“Boyle Heights, East L.A.,” he said, not without a little pride. The culture of his urban neighborhood had shaped him, instilling in him fierce respect for the place he’d grown up. “My mom and a large chunk of my family still live there.”
“How did you end up in D.C.?”
“After I retired from the army and married Mariana, I joined the bureau. We made the move once I reported for training. I’ve been there ever since.”
Melody moved the flashlight around, still searching. “Are there more?”
Mateo hesitated before lifting his right arm. “Right here.”
There wasn’t much else he could hide from her if she was going to come and go from his hotel room when she pleased. Which he most certainly wanted her to keep doing.
Melody leaned in and studied the tiny footprints over his ribs. Underneath them was etched Angelica Sofia Garcia along with her birthdate. Melody went still, the hand helping him hold his arm up shaking.
“You have a daughter?”
He dropped his arm. “Yeah. Angel’s six. Well, shit … her birthday is in a few weeks. She’ll be seven soon.”
“Where is she now?”
Mateo lowered his gaze. “I don’t know.” He could feel her questioning gaze, so he added, “This case … it put us in danger. The UNSUB knows I’m the lead investigator. He could get to her.”
“UNSUB?”
“Unknown Subject. It’s what we call suspects we haven’t identified yet.”
She clicked off the flashlight and set it aside. “But you have identified him, right? You think Roman Korenic killed Kacey and those other women?”
Mateo’s gaze snapped up to lock with hers. “Is that what you think?”
He had promised not to pressure her, but couldn’t ignore what she was insinuating. Sensing the vehemence in his tone, she placed a placating hand on his shoulder.
“I can’t know for sure, but it isn’t impossible. I just thought he might be your guy since you’re keeping such close tabs on him.”
Mateo sighed. He shouldn’t be talking to her about the case at all. But then, she might be close enough to Korenic’s inner circle to have seen or heard something that might implicate him. But Mateo still wasn’t convinced the man was his UNSUB. Further investigation would reveal the truth. That, and possibly, some hint from Melody. He wouldn’t count her out as a potential witness or informant.
“We don’t know who it is yet, but there’s definitely a connection to Korenic.”
“I’ll be busy when he gets back,” she said, lowering her eyes. “He sent word ahead that he wants the club to throw an event for him. Glow Night. We’ll spend all week getting ready.”
Mateo nodded. “I understand.”
He didn’t like it, but he understood. Melody had a role to play, even if he didn’t know quite what it was, yet. He was sure to find out eventually, and he had decided that patience would serve him well with Melody. He now knew why she didn’t trust easily, and couldn’t begrudge her that. He would overcome it somehow, get her to trust him. If he could do that, he could protect her. He would find a way to set her free.
A knock on the door signaled the arrival of their food, so they pulled apart, Mateo going to the door. They pushed aside talk of the investigation for the rest of the night, reaching for the mundane. Melody talked to him about her art and the piece she was currently working on. She had done a little painting before coming to him this afternoon and was planning a trip to the craft store for some new supplies. He told her about Angelica—as much as he dared—and confided his disappointment that he would probably be forced to miss her upcoming birthday. They ate Thai food and lay in bed while the hours wiled away, the inevitable pull of their disparate worlds lingering just outside the door. For now, Mateo clung to what they could have and told himself it was enough. It was all they could give each other, and they both knew it. It had to be enough.
“Making love to you,” he filled in. He had no choice but to call it what it had been. He hadn’t approached a woman with such purpose and attentiveness since Mari. Learning about Melody’s background and what it implied, he had suffered no end of guilt over his handling of her in the storage room. It had been one of the rawest, uninhibited sexual experiences of his life, but he had been driven primarily by his own need. His need to placate the brute inside of him that craved to possess every inch of her. Tonight had been about atoning for that, for giving her no less than she deserved. He wasn’t ready yet to grapple with what it might mean.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
“It kind of just came out before I could think about whether you would like it.”
“I did like it.”
She sounded almost ashamed of the fact, which sent another laugh up out of his throat. He turned on his side to face her.
“It fits, you know.”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “It’s cute, but you have to admit it’s a little misogynistic. I’m neither a baby nor a girl.”
He traced a fingertip along the line of her jaw. “But you have a baby-doll face. A sweet face. Therefore, you’re a baby girl … my baby girl.”
She chewed her lip thoughtfully, studying him in silence for a moment before she responded. “You shouldn’t say things like that to a girl like me.”
“And what kind of girl is that?”
“The kind who’s never known tenderness or love. The kind who might take you seriously and get the wrong idea.”
The same visceral reaction that had swept over him when she’d disagreed with his opinion of her reared its ugly head. He tightened his hold on her until she gasped, as if fighting for air. He eased his arm a bit but didn’t let go.
“In the short time you have known me, have I given you any indication that I am anything but serious?”
That got a giggle out of her. “You got me there. I can imagine you terrify the shit out of your suspects.”
“Certainly seemed to unsettle Suede.” He cringed. “Shit. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Said what?” she teased, grasping his point.
He slipped a hand beneath the comforter and ran his hand down her belly. Encountering her mound and the landing strip of dark hairs leading the path to her seam, he had a sudden thought. Yanking the blanket down, he reached for the flashlight on the nightstand. The lamp wasn’t bright enough for him to see what he was looking for.
“What are you doing?” she asked, squirming under him as he pointed the light at her lower belly.
“I saw something earlier and wanted to get a better look.”
She went still as the light illuminated a tattoo. Etched from hipbone to hipbone was a vine in black and gray lines and shaded dark green. Along the vine, little roses bloomed, most of them in a shade of rich, deep red. A single blossom toward the middle was shaded a vibrant golden yellow.
“It’s gorgeous,” he murmured, sensing that it meant something to her. All of his tattoos were personal, and Melody seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t take permanently inking her skin lightly.
He traced a finger over the vine, finding puckered, raised skin beneath it. It was a scar, he realized, and it was thick and ropey, as if it hadn’t healed properly. It was only visible when he was close, but he could feel the devastation beneath his fingers.
“What happened?”
He turned off the flashlight and put it aside, laying his head on her belly and keeping his hand over the tattoo. She rested her hand on his head and twined her fingers in his hair.
“I had to have a partial hysterectomy when I was nineteen,” she whispered.
Mateo stiffened, his entire body reacting to the weight of her words. He was pinned beneath them, incapable of moving or breathing as he digested what she’d just said.
“I contracted PID after a bad back-alley abortion. My first pimp, Darrell—D-Ray—he got me pregnant. Got mad at me, as if I had done it to myself.”
“Dick,” Mateo muttered.
“The biggest dick. He wouldn’t even take me to a decent clinic. I was terrified. I wasn’t ready to be a mother at nineteen, but I didn’t want an abortion. I don’t know what I was thinking … that maybe a baby could be my way out. Having a kid would make me a burden and diminish my worth. D-Ray would let me go. Other girls who’d had babies had disappeared, and I never knew for sure where they went. I convinced myself they had somehow escaped.”
Mateo’s chest squeezed and he winced. He’d been extensively trained on the methods of pimps, who knew how to target young, naïve girls with no safe place to turn. By the time the girls understood what was happening to them, it was almost always too late. The trap would have snared them.
“He forced you to go through with it,” he choked out.
“Yes. And afterward, I was in so much pain, and I got so sick. One day, I just collapsed and then woke up in the hospital. I had contracted an infection … the instruments used for my abortion likely weren’t properly sterilized. I almost died.”
Mateo’s hand slipped to her waist and held tight, his stomach giving a lurch at the thought of her dying.
“I had to undergo an aggressive round of antibiotics and ... I lost one ovary and both my fallopian tubes. So, you know … you can’t get me pregnant or anything. Still get a fucking period every month, even after all that. Ain’t that a bitch?”
Mateo squeezed his eyes shut, the roiling sensation in his gut worsening in its violence. Something within him fractured at the thought of what had been stolen from her. Even if she had decided to abort the first baby eventually, there might have been a chance in the future for another, when she was free enough and stable enough to care for it. But then, Mateo saw the thought for the fantasy it was. He knew very well that girls like Melody rarely made it out. It brought him no comfort to think it might have been for the best in the end. A woman in her position would be in constant fear of getting pregnant or contracting a disease.
“I’m not working anymore,” she said suddenly, as if reading his mind. “And I … I’m clean.”
Mateo raised his head to look at her. “I never doubted that. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“Yes, I do. I lied to you.”
“You didn’t technically lie. You gave me enough hints that I should have understood. I usually have a keen sense for these things, but you’re different. In some ways, you’re incredibly easy to read, and in others you’re a mystery.”
He didn’t add that his burning attraction to her had clouded his judgment, and probably still did.
She snorted sarcastically. “You think you’re easy to read?”
“I imagine I’m not. But then, it’s all due to my training. It’s not just about reading people or understanding them. There’s a balancing act at play. You have to show people what you want them to see and hide the cards in your deck.”
“You’re good at that,” she remarked. “Now that I know what you are, it fits. But when I was trying to guess what job had brought you to town, I would never have guessed FBI. After seeing that tat on your arm, I assumed military.”
“I was an army ranger before I joined the bureau. Did four tours in Afghanistan.”
She stroked a finger down his arm, tracing over the battlefield cross tattooed on his bicep. “What was it like over there?”
Mateo hesitated before answering. Typically, when people asked about his past service and deployments, they were fishing for the gory details. The people he had killed and the things he had seen. They wanted to stick their fingers into his wounds and draw blood, amuse themselves at his expense. It had always made him feel like a circus attraction, and he hated it almost as much as being fawned over because he was a veteran. It was embarrassing and frankly degrading.
But he didn’t sense that sort of intention in her tone. His immediate reaction was to brush her off and change the subject. But after what she had just shared with him, and after she had trusted him with her body, he had no right to hold her at arm’s length. There might still be secrets between them, but Mateo had given her very little choice in the matter. He had pried into her life until exposing her, not thinking of how painful that might be. He owed her something in return.
“It wasn’t all blood and bullets, you know,” he said. “A lot of it was waiting. So much goddamn waiting, sitting around in the blistering fucking heat, drinking warm water that tastes like metal. And in some places, there was nothing but sand as far as the eye could see. It got everywhere and into everything no matter what we did—our boots, our ears, our fucking teeth. I swear I brought home buckets of sand after every tour, no matter how well I shook my stuff out before packing it. There were missions, of course, and sometimes they spanned for days. I’m talking melting like a candle under layers of Kevlar and polyester while watching off the sides of cliffs for approaching vehicles, or shivering with your balls in your throat while lurking in dark caves watching for hostile contact. But in between them, there was so much time to sit around, missing home. You came to learn real quick how precious word from home can be. A letter, an email, a rare phone call. You lived for those moments.”
“Sounds lonely. You must have missed your family.”
Mateo wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He hadn’t met Mari until after his final deployment. His career was winding down at the time, and he’d been looking forward to retirement and a life beyond the army. The only people he had missed during his deployment were his parents and grandparents, as well as his cousins, aunts, and uncles. He had definitely missed home, family dinners and parties. But that dull ache had been nothing like life without Mari and Angelica. His new career had taken him away from them enough to result in guilt and the ache of missing important life events. It wasn’t even close to being the same.
“You kind of form a new family over there,” he said. “Your brothers. You’re relying on each other to survive and we’re all only as strong as the weakest man. It makes for a unique sort of bond.”
He fell silent after that, growing pensive as the faces of his past haunted his memory. So many of them hadn’t come home, and it hurt to remember them, to feel in some way responsible for a few of those deaths.
Fortunately, Melody seemed to sense they were brushing up against dangerous territory. “So … you were off today? You looked like you had been shopping or something when you came in.”
“I took the day. Got tired of being couped up in the field office. Not much we can do until some red tape gets cleared.”
She fell silent again and this time it was tense. Mateo searched her face, finding that she seemed anxious again.
“Korenic will be back soon,” she said eventually.
“I know.”
“He won’t be happy about those raids.”
“I’m counting on it. If he’s pissed off, he’ll act rashly. He’ll make mistakes. Make it easier for me to crush him.”
She shivered and he held her tighter, stilling her. “You really think you can do that?”
“My track record says I can and will. But enough about that. Did you eat dinner? I could order something in.”
“That sounds amazing, actually. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
Mateo frowned. He didn’t like that. “We’d better do something about that. But don’t let me hear you haven’t been eating properly again. Three squares a day, Melody.”
She gave him a sheepish smile. “Yes, sir.”
Mateo grunted, reaching for his phone and pulling up a delivery app. “Now, what’ll it be, baby girl?”
He sat against the headboard, and she leaned against him, watching him scroll the options. She chose a Thai place that was open late, then disappeared into the bathroom after placing her order, returning a few minutes later with a fresh scent of soap and wearing his white bathrobe. Before climbing back into bed, she took up his flashlight, then sat straddling his hips. Shining the light on his chest, she grinned.
“Now, it’s my turn to play find-the-tattoo. You’ve been hiding some body art from me.”
Mateo stiffened as she illuminated the portrait of Mari. He had forgotten he wasn’t wearing a shirt until that moment, and suddenly wished he could cover himself. A wave of something sickening washed over him, and he couldn’t figure out whether it was guilt, shame, or fear. She traced a finger over the tattoo, over Mariana’s face and the wreath of marigolds beneath her image. She swirled her fingers over the text he had requested be scrawled underneath it—a Spanish phrase.
Mi pequeña estrella. My little star.
He had called Mariana that often, because that was exactly what she had been—his light in a dark, fathomless sky. A beacon of hope and peace that had drawn him home every time.
“What happened to her?” she asked, laying her hand flat over the tattoo. “She was beautiful.”
“She … died,” he hedged. “A year ago.”
Her face crumbled, as if his words had broken her heart. “Oh, Mateo … I’m so sorry.”
He reached up to cup her face. “So am I.”
To his relief, she didn’t ask how it had happened. She simply lifted the flashlight and resumed her inspection. She took another look at the tattoo on his left bicep.
“Army tat,” she murmured.
“Battlefield cross,” he corrected.
“Very manly.”
She swung the light to his other arm. Inclining her head, she leaned in to take a closer look. A black and gray shaded image of Lady Justice took up almost the entire arm from his shoulder to his elbow, but it wasn’t a traditional depiction. The surface of her skin was cracked as if she’d been tipped over and then set right again. The sword in her hand was coated with blood at the tip—the only color in the piece—and dripped into a puddle at her feet. Her blindfold was ripped and hanging loose on one side, revealing an eye that dripped tears.
“Wow,” she whispered. “The detail is incredible. It’s amazing work.”
“I was lucky to find a good artist back home in Cali.”
“I didn’t know you were a California boy,” she said with a little laugh.
“Boyle Heights, East L.A.,” he said, not without a little pride. The culture of his urban neighborhood had shaped him, instilling in him fierce respect for the place he’d grown up. “My mom and a large chunk of my family still live there.”
“How did you end up in D.C.?”
“After I retired from the army and married Mariana, I joined the bureau. We made the move once I reported for training. I’ve been there ever since.”
Melody moved the flashlight around, still searching. “Are there more?”
Mateo hesitated before lifting his right arm. “Right here.”
There wasn’t much else he could hide from her if she was going to come and go from his hotel room when she pleased. Which he most certainly wanted her to keep doing.
Melody leaned in and studied the tiny footprints over his ribs. Underneath them was etched Angelica Sofia Garcia along with her birthdate. Melody went still, the hand helping him hold his arm up shaking.
“You have a daughter?”
He dropped his arm. “Yeah. Angel’s six. Well, shit … her birthday is in a few weeks. She’ll be seven soon.”
“Where is she now?”
Mateo lowered his gaze. “I don’t know.” He could feel her questioning gaze, so he added, “This case … it put us in danger. The UNSUB knows I’m the lead investigator. He could get to her.”
“UNSUB?”
“Unknown Subject. It’s what we call suspects we haven’t identified yet.”
She clicked off the flashlight and set it aside. “But you have identified him, right? You think Roman Korenic killed Kacey and those other women?”
Mateo’s gaze snapped up to lock with hers. “Is that what you think?”
He had promised not to pressure her, but couldn’t ignore what she was insinuating. Sensing the vehemence in his tone, she placed a placating hand on his shoulder.
“I can’t know for sure, but it isn’t impossible. I just thought he might be your guy since you’re keeping such close tabs on him.”
Mateo sighed. He shouldn’t be talking to her about the case at all. But then, she might be close enough to Korenic’s inner circle to have seen or heard something that might implicate him. But Mateo still wasn’t convinced the man was his UNSUB. Further investigation would reveal the truth. That, and possibly, some hint from Melody. He wouldn’t count her out as a potential witness or informant.
“We don’t know who it is yet, but there’s definitely a connection to Korenic.”
“I’ll be busy when he gets back,” she said, lowering her eyes. “He sent word ahead that he wants the club to throw an event for him. Glow Night. We’ll spend all week getting ready.”
Mateo nodded. “I understand.”
He didn’t like it, but he understood. Melody had a role to play, even if he didn’t know quite what it was, yet. He was sure to find out eventually, and he had decided that patience would serve him well with Melody. He now knew why she didn’t trust easily, and couldn’t begrudge her that. He would overcome it somehow, get her to trust him. If he could do that, he could protect her. He would find a way to set her free.
A knock on the door signaled the arrival of their food, so they pulled apart, Mateo going to the door. They pushed aside talk of the investigation for the rest of the night, reaching for the mundane. Melody talked to him about her art and the piece she was currently working on. She had done a little painting before coming to him this afternoon and was planning a trip to the craft store for some new supplies. He told her about Angelica—as much as he dared—and confided his disappointment that he would probably be forced to miss her upcoming birthday. They ate Thai food and lay in bed while the hours wiled away, the inevitable pull of their disparate worlds lingering just outside the door. For now, Mateo clung to what they could have and told himself it was enough. It was all they could give each other, and they both knew it. It had to be enough.
