Rock Chick 04 Renegade (6 page)

I wanted to touch him,
needed
it.

His grip tightened, likely thinking I was trying to struggle even though I was kissing him back.

His mouth came away just a fraction and he spoke against my lips again. “Who taught you to shoot?” I was breathing heavily and I just stared at him, trying to clear my head.

“Who’s in on this with you?” he asked.

I kept silent.

“Who’re you after?” he persisted.

“Please get off me,” I said softly.

He shook his head, his lips turned up a bit and he kissed me again.

I lost any clarity that I had gained with his mouth not on mine and kissed him back, struggling against his hands at my wrists. His mouth moved away, down my cheek to my ear and he said, “I’l keep this up al day. You’re gonna talk to me, Jules.”

I twisted my head and, don’t ask me why, I was just driven by something I couldn’t control, I touched the tip of my tongue to his neck.

This caused an interesting response. His knees slid down so his body came to rest on top of mine and his hands let go of my wrists. My arms went around him immediately. He brought his lips to mine again and his kiss changed.

This wasn’t a muddle-your-mind, get-you-talking kiss, this was something entirely different.

My body reacted instantly, softening, melding itself to him and one of my hands went under his shirt, my fingers tracing the hard muscle and soft skin of his back above the waistband of his jeans then they slid up the indentation of his spine.

He made a noise, low in his throat that shot straight through my body and pounded between my legs.

He rol ed to his side, taking me with him, kissing me, hot, hungry; his hands gliding over the satin of my nightie. I could feel the cal uses on his fingers snagging at the material and, for some reason, this thril ed me.

His leg moved. He pushed a hard thigh between mine and his hand slid down my back, over my bottom, up the back of my thigh, lifting my leg at my knee and hooking it around his hip. Then his thigh pressed up between my legs.

It was then the phone beside my bed rang.

Vance ignored it, so did I. We kept kissing, Vance using his talented tongue, then he’d give me soft, quick kisses, then he’d use his tongue again. My hands moved up his back, feeling him and pressing him to me at the same time.

I hadn’t gone the way of voicemail. I stil had an answering machine mainly because I liked to see it blinking on the very odd occasion that someone phoned me.

My voice could be heard asking the cal er to leave a message as Vance and I kissed and groped, total y oblivious to the sound.

“Jules? This is May. I know it’s early, hon, sorry. Listen, do you know where Sniff and Roam are? Their beds have been slept in but they’re gone…”

My body froze for a nanosecond then I pul ed away from Vance, rol ed, came up on my knees, my ass again on my calves and I snagged the phone.

“May?” I said into the phone, slightly breathless.

May was a volunteer at the Shelter. She worked more than most of the paid staff. She was a sweetheart and a soft touch, but she hid it just enough so the kids wouldn’t walk al over her.

“Hey hon,” May said into my ear. “You sound like you were running.”

“No, just… never mind,” I said, not about to explain it.

“What’s up with Sniff and Roam?”

“They’re not here. Thought you might know something.

The kids are talking but not straight out. We think something is happening, or has happened, and we’re a little concerned.”

I closed my eyes and dropped my head.

Then I took a deep breath to calm my heart and mind and said, “I’l be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay, hon. See you when you get here.”

Then she disconnected. I put the phone back and turned my eyes to Vance.

He was on his side, up on an elbow watching me.

“Sorry. Gotta go,” I said.

And before he could respond, I scooted to the end of the bed and, not using the steps, jumped to the ground, landing lightly on my feet. I headed straight to the kitchen.

I went to the table, pul ed my cel out of my purse, found Roam’s number and cal ed it. It rang to no answer and Vance walked into the kitchen, stopped, leaned a hip against the counter and crossed his arms on his chest, watching me while I left a message.

“Roam, you get this message, you cal me immediately.

Got me?”

Then I hit the off button and scrol ed to Sniff’s number.

“You gonna share?” Vance asked.

I kept my eyes on him while I listened to the phone ring.

What I didn’t do was share.

Sniff didn’t pick up either, so I left the same message.

I flipped the phone shut, threw it on my purse and headed to a cupboard. Boo was circling my feet, oddly absent during the bed area frolicking, he was now ready for breakfast and told me so repeatedly. I got out his wet food, got out one of his bowls and made him breakfast.

Vance watched me and I was acutely aware that I was only wearing my nightie.

Though, considering he had his tongue in my mouth and his hands on my ass (and elsewhere), being prudish about the nightie seemed a bit sil y.

“Jules,” Vance cal ed after I’d put the food down.

I headed out of the room, right passed him.

“I’m going to King’s,” I informed him, walked down the hal and went to the closet in my living room. I pul ed out a pair of jeans and yanked them on under my nightie.

I had them zipped and buttoned when a hand curled around my upper arm and I was shifted and pressed into the wal . Then Vance got into my space, seriously into my space, head bent close to mine.

“We were in the middle of something,” he told me, like I didn’t already know that and wasn’t trying my utmost to forget it.

“Yeah. I know. Sorry about that,” I said airily, like it was al the same to me (even though it was
not
) and his eyes flashed dangerously at my tone.

Um.

Yikes.

I decided to explain. “It’s probably for the best. We don’t want things to get complicated.”

He came closer. “We don’t want things to get complicated?” he repeated what I said.

“Um… yeah,” I replied.

“You think things aren’t
already
complicated?” He had a point.

I remained silent.

He got even closer, his hands slid around my hips and at the very top of my behind he pressed my body into his. His head tilted so it was a hairbreadth from mine. I put my hands between us but this didn’t serve any purpose, at al , because Vance didn’t let it.

“I know about Cordova. I know he wants to get in your pants,” he told me.

My eyes narrowed at him. “If you knew, why did you ask?”

He ignored my question and said something that threw me right off balance. “Jules, listen to me. Since
I
intend to get in your pants, he’s gonna have to back off,” Vance announced, rocking my world. Then before I could process his words, he finished. “I’l take care of Cordova.” Oh crap.

“Vance,” I whispered, not sure what I intended to say but I intended to say something.

For some reason, this made him smile. It was a new smile to me, it made his eyes soft and sexy and I felt my breath catch so I didn’t say another word.

“I like that,” he said quietly, his voice back to silk.

“What?” I whispered.

“You sayin’ my name,” he told me. “I’l like it better when you moan it, tonight, when I’m inside you.” My stomach plummeted. You would think this was a terrible sensation but instead it was thril ing, like being on a rol er coaster.

“Oh my God,” I breathed.

“Tonight, at dinner, we’re gonna talk about what you’re doin’. After dinner, we’re gonna finish what we started this morning.”

“Vance,” I said, at that moment, wanting to have dinner with him like I wanted oxygen to remain present on the earth. And wanting to finish what we started like I’d wanted nothing else before in my life.

However, I knew this wasn’t smart and it was not going to happen.

He kept talking. “I’l pick you up here, six thirty. You’re not here, I’l find you.”

“Vance, listen to me,” I said.

“You feel like talkin’ now?” he asked, his head cocked and his eyes flashed again.

At his scary, threatening look, I forgot what I was going to say.

His mouth came to mine. “Six thirty, Jules. Be here.” Then he kissed me, hard and deep.

After he kissed me, he let me go, walked away, grabbed his boots from the floor and walked down the hal .

I moved to look down the hal but he’d vanished.

I heard the backdoor open and shut and I knew he was gone.

I swung into King’s and knew immediately something was up.

King’s Shelter was a huge, ugly building off Evans close to I-25. It consisted of a big rec room with a pool table, television and bunches of couches and chairs; an enormous kitchen and dining area; six large bedrooms; a conference room where we did our family reunions; an open plan office; and three smal er rooms where we did counseling and tutoring.

There was a manager who ran the place and raised the money to keep it going, two ful -time social workers, myself included, and one half-time tutor. We had two half-time professionals volunteering, one a social worker, one a tutor.

Lastly, we had five volunteers who came and went as they pleased, three men and two women. They cooked, cleaned, spent time with the kids and stayed the night to let kids in or out and to keep an eye on things.

The place was packed when I walked in and everyone’s eyes swiveled to me and most everyone stared. Not good.

King’s usual y had a number of kids hanging around but this, in my experience, was an al -time record.

May saw me the minute I walked in and she approached me.

May was one of our daytime volunteers and did most of the cooking. She was wel into her fifties. She was short, black, round, straightened her hair and then arranged it so she looked like a heavy-set, African American Jackie Kennedy circa the White House years.

“Hey hon,” she said when she made it to me.

“Hey May. Any sign of Sniff and Roam?” I asked.

“No, girl, but we gotta talk.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

Before she could lead me away, Josefa, a thirteen year old Mexican-American girl who’d been on the streets for six months before I got her to King’s, approached us. She’d been reunited with her family a couple of weeks ago and they were in counseling. She wasn’t my kid, in other words, I wasn’t working her case, but I knew her al the same. I knew al the kids.

“Is it true?” she asked, a gaggle of her girlfriends were standing close and staring at me in awe, much like I stared at Crowe last night (and, possibly, this morning).

My heart stuttered, thinking she knew something about Sniff and Roam, and I asked her, “Is what true? And by the way, hel o and how are you today?” I not-so-subtly reminded her of the pleasantries of conversation.

She ignored my reminder and said, “That you’ve partnered with Crowe. Is it true, you and Crowe are patrol in’ the street and takin’ down the dealers of Denver?

A vendetta for Park?”

Oh crap.

“Mm hmm. This is what we gotta talk about,” May told me.

I looked from May, to Josefa, to her posse. “No. It’s not true,” I replied, and it wasn’t,
exactly
.

“But I heard you and him took down Shard last night,” Josefa said, looking disappointed.

I closed my eyes. Sniff and his big mouth.

Then I opened my eyes. “Josefa, I have not partnered with anyone. Don’t believe everything you hear.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. I hadn’t partnered with anyone and it wasn’t me who took down Shard, it was Vance. I wasn’t going to share this with Josefa however.

“But I heard –” Josefa went on.

“Josefa, girl, enough. Leave Law alone. Go on. Scoot,” May cut in.

Josefa stared at me, so did her posse then they shuffled away.

May caught my arm, dragged me to a quiet corner and turned to me. “Wel ? Is it true?” she asked, her eyes lit with a fire I’d never seen before.

“May –”

“Don’t think we don’t know what you’ve been doin’.

These kids talk, they been whisperin’ about you for weeks.

I’ve been keepin’ myself to myself, not likin’ you out there alone, but not disagreein’ with you either. Park was a good kid. We al loved him. You partner with the likes of Crowe, wel , I’m thinkin’ that’s a bit of al right.”

“May, I haven’t partnered with Crowe. Something happened yesterday and… erm… last night,” and that morning but I didn’t go into that, “I met him, we’ve talked, he helped me with a situation and that’s it. We aren’t partners.”

“He as cute as they say?” May asked, eyes stil dancing with excitement.

Crowe? Cute?

I couldn’t help myself; I threw back my head and laughed.

“What’s funny?” May talked over my laughter.

“Vance Crowe is
not
cute,” I said when I got myself under control.

May’s nose scrunched. “That’s damned disappointing. I heard he was a little hottie.”

“Oh, he’s hot al right, but he isn’t cute. You don’t describe a man like that as
cute
,” I told May.

May’s eyes lit again. “How
do
you describe him then?” I thought about this and couldn’t come up with anything.

He was simply indescribable. You had to see him, and if you were lucky (which, surprisingly, I was)
feel
him.

“Just… not cute,” I said.