No Such Thing as a Free Lunch (No Such Thing As...: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (26 page)

I’d never been to his house before. Oh, I’d done the obligatory “drunken drive-by” one night with Fran and Janine when I first moved back to town,—a mini stalking expedition fueled by one too many margaritas, but this was the first time I’d seen Bobby’s digs up close and personal.

He let me in and closed the door behind him, tossing his keys on the end table next to a cranberry colored couch. A pile of foam rubber building blocks sat in the corner of the living room, along with a kid sized table and matching chairs. A tiny tea set adorned the table, complete with what looked like plastic cupcakes. I tested one to make sure.

I wanted to snoop around a little more, but Bobby gestured for me to follow him upstairs. “Bathroom’s straight ahead,” he said, detouring into what I assumed was the master bedroom. “There are fresh towels in the linen closet. If you give me your clothes I’ll run them through the wash for you after you’re finished in the shower.”

He emerged from the room carrying a long sleeved button down man’s dress shirt. “You’d swim in my boxers, so this’ll have to do until I can get your stuff laundered.”

“Thanks,” I said, getting all teary-eyed. “Listen, I don’t want you to go to any trouble for me. You must be exhausted.”

“Yeah, I am,” he admitted. “But I’m not the one who almost died tonight.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but something stopped him. He handed me the shirt, leaning over and sweeping the bangs out of my eyes the way he’d done countless times over the years. “Go take your shower.”

I stood under the steaming water and scrubbed Baby-No Tears shampoo into my hair. I’d left my clothes in a discreet pile outside the bathroom door. They really stunk. Maybe Bobby would decide they weren’t salvageable and burn them.

When the hot water ran out I climbed out of the shower, ran the blow dryer over it and then washed out my underwear and blew that dry too. I just couldn’t parade around Bobby’s house “commando.” I can’t even do that in my own house and I live alone! I slipped on his shirt and went to look for him.

He was stretched out on his bed, hands locked behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. The lights were off, but the curtains stood open letting in the light of the full moon. Not wanting to disturb him I turned to leave, but he sat up swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Don’t get up,” I said. “I can let myself out.”

“And how do you plan to go? No car, remember?”

Good point.
“I can call a cab.”

“You know I’ll take you home any time you want to go. But you don’t have to rush off. Your stuff is still in the dryer.”

It seemed easier to stay than to explain to my mother why I was arriving home at dawn with no pants on. “Okay. Thanks. Do you mind if I use your phone? I want to check on Craig.”

“Already did,” Bobby said. “He slipped into a coma about an hour ago. I also called the station to see what’s up with the shooter. His name’s Sean McCauley and he’s not talking. He’s got some hotshot lawyer and bail’s already been posted.”

“Hmm. Must have a rich uncle stashed away somewhere.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Bobby followed me with his eyes as I paced around his room. Being in such close proximity to DiCarlo and a bed was making me nervous. I began fiddling with the things on his dresser. A couple of framed pictures of Sophia, his badge and wallet. A pink plastic bracelet with unicorns dangling from it.

He stood and walked over to me, taking the bracelet out of my hand. “This one’s mine, but if I ask Sophia real nice, I bet she’ll make one for you too.”

“You’ve always been able talk the girls into doing your bidding,” I told him, only half joking.

Bobby’s mood shifted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “All the girls but you, Bran. Why did you call Santiago tonight instead of me?” The question seemed to come out of nowhere but I knew he’d been brooding about it since we left the police station.

“Bobby, you were working. And even if you hadn’t been, you’ve got a daughter who needs you. What would you have done, run out on her in the middle of the night?”

Bobby took a step back and massaged his temples. He was making an effort to keep himself under control, but it was a struggle. “You’ve known this guy—what, two months? I’ve known you a lifetime. He’s the first name on your Goddamn speed dial, for Christ sake.”

“How did you—”

He shot me a disgusted look. “Lucky guess.”

“Listen,” I said, “maybe I should go. You’re tired, I’m tired. I don’t want either of us to say anything we’ll regret later.”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Run away. After all, if we don’t talk about it, the problem doesn’t exist.”

Yeah. Kind of.
“Look, I’m not going to have this conversation about Nick. Whether you like it or not, he’s been a good friend to me.”

And that’s when he lost it. “Is that what you think I’m upset about?
Your relationship with Santiago?”

“But you just said—”

Bobby forced out a bitter laugh. “Santiago is just the tip of the iceberg. No, I’m not thrilled about it, but you’re a big girl. You get to pick and choose your friends all by yourself. But Christ Almighty, Brandy, this goes so far beyond that, it’s not even funny, It’s not about your choice of companionship. It’s about your constant need to do whatever the fuck you want whenever the fuck you want to do it, without any regard to how it impacts the people who love you.”

“That is
not
true,” I yelled, knowing full well he spoke the gospel. “But what kind of a person would I be if I could help someone and I just stood back and did nothing?”

Bobby slammed both hands down hard on the dresser. I think it was to keep from throttling me. “Will you just shut up and fucking listen for a change? It was one thing when you wanted to help Tamra. She was your friend and I know you’d never walk away from that. But now you’re risking your life for some bag of shit career criminal who would spit on you if you passed him on the street. You’ve put yourself in danger so often over the past few months, if I didn’t know you so well I’d swear you had a death wish.”

“A death wish! Well, that’s a lousy thing to say!” I tried to stomp out of the room, but he moved in front of the door, blocking my exit.

“I said,
if I didn’t know you so well.
” He reached out and pulled me roughly to him. “But I do know you, sweetheart. I know you’re so scared you can’t see straight. But what scares you more is giving in to the fear. So you pretend you’re fine and you push on. And the worse it gets the harder you push.”

Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. He was right, of course. So I did what I do best. I pushed. I pushed him hard and he pushed me back. Right down onto the bed.

I popped back up but Bobby loomed over me and forced me down again, pinning my arms to my sides and wedging a leg between my knees to make sure I stayed down.

I struggled against him, my look mutinous. “Let me up,” I screamed.

“Not until you admit I’m right.”

“Fuck you, DiCarlo.” I drew my leg up and aimed for his crotch, but he moved deftly out of the way and pinned me harder.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“Tears of frustration streamed down my face. “I hate you,” I sobbed.

“Say it!”

“Okay, you’re right! So what do you want, a medal?”

In an instant the anger drained from his body, to be replaced by something even scarier. “You
know
what I want,” he said, lowering himself on top of me.

I did know. And God help me, I wanted it too.

Bobby didn’t wait for permission. He just took what he wanted, his mouth hot on mine, searching, finding, savoring the taste of each other. He let go of my arms and tore at my shirt until it fell apart in his hands. Then he reached down and unzipped his jeans and kicked them off. I grabbed at his tee shirt and lifted it over his head and then we were skin to skin, his rock hard abs pressed against the fullness of my breasts, the heat coming off us threatening to set the bed on fire.

I ran my finger along his form, tracing the body I had once known so well. He groaned at my touch and then swore and reached for a condom. I helped him slip it on and then, raising my hips and holding me tight, he thrust inside me.

We tried to take it slowly but the need was too great. I wrapped my legs around him, my heart banging wildly against my chest as the pressure in my lower belly grew, hard and fast, and it rocked us both over the edge so quickly it left us out of breath and soaked in sweat. Afterwards, we lay there in stunned silence, awed by the magnitude of what we had done.

Bobby rolled off me and collapsed onto the bed, panting. He was on his back, and as I lay next to him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing returned to normal, I had the sudden and perfect realization that what had just happened between us was inevitable. In that moment another truth became evident, and calmness washed over me.

“Bobby?’

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I know you do,” he said without surprise. “I love you too.”

“But we’re not right for each other, are we? Not now, anyway.”

He was quiet for a beat. “Yeah,” he sighed, “I know that too.”

He reached out and drew me to him and I curled up in his arms, feeling very safe and very loved.

I woke up to the distant sound of my cell phone going off. I was alone in the bed. I looked at the clock on the dresser. It said 9:20 a.m. I’d been asleep for three hours, but it felt like three minutes.

Bobby walked into the bedroom holding my phone. He was fully dressed and wearing a tie.

“You look nice,” I said, feeling around under the covers for my underwear.

Bobby grinned. “So do you.” He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead and then handed me the phone. “It’s your mother,” he said, checking the readout.

“Oh jeez, I can’t talk to her now. I’m sitting naked in your bed. She’s going to know that.
Mothers know these things!”
I dropped the phone and wriggled into my panties.

The phone stopped ringing and went to voicemail. “I should call her,” I groaned, as my conscience kicked in. “She’s probably heard about the shooting by now and she must be worried sick.”

“It’s okay,” Bobby said. “I pulled some strings last night and managed to keep your name out of it— at least for a while. For the time being you’re just an ‘unidentified female.’ Now as far as where you spent the night, you’re on your own.”

Turns out my mother was calling to ask where I kept the furniture polish. I told her I didn’t have furniture polish. She uttered a horrified squeal and ran right out to correct the situation. I half expected my failing to be the lead story on the morning news. “This just in! An ‘unidentified female’ has admitted to using her shirt sleeve to remove dust from the tv screen. Her mother is devastated and could not be reached for comment. More on this story as it unfolds.”

I got dressed and went downstairs. Bobby was in the kitchen eating breakfast. He poured me a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats and joined me at the table. “I figured you could use the sugar rush,” he told me. “You didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night.”

Just as I shoved the first spoonful into my mouth, my phone rang. “Hullo?”

It was Nick. My first instinct was to tell Bobby it was a telemarketer and hang up, but we turned a corner last night in our relationship and I wanted to test out our newfound honesty. “Nick” I mouthed to him. Bobby rolled his eyes, but he didn’t throw his bowl of cereal at the wall or anything, so I figured we were cool.

“Hey,” I said softly into the phone, battling the shyness that always seemed to overtake me whenever I was around Nick… or heard his voice… or thought about him in passing. “Listen, I never really thanked you for what you did for me last night.”

Bobby made a face and walked his bowl over to the sink.
Okay, so he’s not quite ready to drink from the cup of friendship.
I put my bowl in the sink as well and walked out into the living room.

“Easy stuff darlin’,” Nick told me. “So are you still up for visiting LaShawna Mitchell today?”

“Absolutely. But hey, you really have done enough for me, so I’ll understand if you can’t make it tonight. I should be fine alone.” I don’t know why I say these things. Nick learned early on it was utter bullshit.

“Actually, I’ve got some business to take care of over in that neighborhood, this morning, which works out well seeing as LaShawna had to move up the meeting time. I’ll pick you up. How soon can you be ready?”

That all depended on how soon Bobby would be leaving the house. Even though we’d reached an understanding, it was stretching it to think he’d welcome Nick into his home with open arms. “Um, Nick, can I call you back in just a minute?”

“Not necessary, sweetheart.” Bobby walked into the living room. His shoulder holster was strapped to his chest and I suspected there was another at his ankle. “Finish your conversation. I’m shoving off now.” He bent down and gave me a quick, brotherly kiss on the cheek. “Shut the door when you leave and be careful.”

“That’s it?”

“Let me talk to Santiago for a minute.”

I handed him the phone. “You hurt her, I’ll kill you.” He handed the phone back to me. “Yep, that’s it.”

“You look nervous, darlin’.” It was noon and Nick and I were driving along Indiana Avenue in the heart of “the Badlands.” The name conjured up images of the old west—gun slingers, saloon brawls, shoot outs at the O.K. corral—all of which seemed like good, wholesome fun compared to the city scene laid out before me.

Entire blocks of buildings were boarded up, but that didn’t stop people from living in them. Junkies, boasting the purest heroin in the country hung out on street corners making open trades. Prostitutes, some as young as eleven, lined up in full force, peddling their wares in the grey, mid-winter afternoon. This was urban blight at its very worst.

Nick was at the wheel of a Mercedes truck. I didn’t know how good an idea it was to drive a fancy car in this neighborhood, but he seemed unconcerned.

“Uh, Nick, you did say you had business around here, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Are you a drug lord, by any chance?”

He cast me a sideways smile. “No.”