Marked by Passion (24 page)

Leaning across the counter, I looked at the picture he held out. It was an official mug shot, stark and bright, but I'd recognize the guy anywhere. It was the thug. "Is this the suspect?"

"No, he's the victim."

Swallowing a gasp, I squinted at the picture like I was studying it hard. Really, I was trying to get my equilibrium back. Finding out a guy you beat up was dead kind of rocked your world.

"What is it?" Ramirez asked, his gaze sharp.

I cleared my throat. "Nothing."

"Do you know him?"

"No," I replied quickly, conscious of the way he catalogued my every reaction and how his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Goes by the name Chivo," Taylor said. "He was a goon-for-hire of sorts."

I wanted to push the picture away and tell them I had no idea who the bastard was, but if the inspectors talked to Vivian they'd find out I'd lied. And I had the impression Ramirez would be like a shark in bloodied water if he caught me in a lie.

So I pulled myself together to give a coherent answer. "He looks like a guy who sat at the bar last night, but I didn't wait on him."

Ramirez held my gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment before he asked, "Approximately what time was he in here?"

"Maybe around nine. If it's the same guy, he left before I did." Because he was lying in wait for me.

Tuch'i
surged as if it heard the thought. I frantically clamped down on it before it could burst loose. I
could do without having to explain
that
to a couple nosy cops. Shudder.

"So you had no contact with him last night?" Ramirez pressed. "If it's the same man who was in here?"

I shook my head, more to bring my focus back to the matter at hand than a denial. "No, I didn't talk to him while he was here."

"Did you notice if he was with anyone?" Inspector Taylor smiled as if to encourage my confidence.

I shrugged. "I didn't notice. I was busy with my station."

"Did he talk to anyone?"

"Not that I saw."

"But you noticed that he was here?" Ramirez asked skeptically.

"I felt his eyes on me, so I glanced up." I frowned at him. He didn't believe me. "He's a little scary-looking, don't you think?" My hackles rose as he continued to store at me with skepticism. "Are you interrogating me?"

"Friendly questioning," Taylor broke in quickly, shooting his partner a frown. "We wouldn't call it an interrogation."

I snorted. "That's how the Inquisition started."

"A little before your time, wasn't it?" Ramirez asked seriously.

It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. "Listen, do you have more questions? Because I've got to get back to work."

He glanced at the only customer in the bar. "I can see how you're busy. Do you live in the neighborhood?"

The abrupt change of subject made me blink. "Yeah," I answered cautiously.

"And you didn't notice anything unusual when you left here last night?"

"No."

He cocked his eyebrow again. "Nothing?"

"Don't you think I'd remember if I saw a murder?"

He made some sort of noncommittal sound as he scribbled some more on his pad. Then he slapped it closed, stuck his pen into his breast pocket, and pulled out a white card. "If you remember anything later, please call me."

Ignoring Taylor's smirk, I slipped it into my apron pocket, knowing I would never call.

Ramirez's nod was barely civil. "Thanks for your time, Ms. Sansouci."

I shifted uncomfortably, wishing he'd leave already. As each second went by, I had the impression he was more and more suspicious that I knew more than I was saying. Of course, it might have been my guilty conscience projecting.

His partner smiled and shook my hand. "We'll contact you if we have more questions."

"Right." I watched them stride toward the door. I was almost in the clear when I heard myself call out, "Inspector Ramirez."

He turned around. "Yes?"

"Did it seem like a mugging? So I know whether or not I have to be extra careful walking home."

"It's always a good idea to be careful, but this looked like a gang-related death. He was shot in the head after being beaten. His nose was pulp. His pockets were emptied, though, so it could have been a druggie stealing money for a fix."

My mark pricked me, and I swallowed thickly. "His pockets were emptied?"

"Yeah. We found nothing on him." His gaze sharpened. "Why?"

"No reason." Except I thought he'd had the scroll on him. I smiled weakly.

He gazed at me a moment longer and then followed his partner out.

Well, at least I knew he didn't die because of any trauma I'd caused. Not that him being shot rested easy with me. But what were the chances it was related to me or the scroll?

"Yeah." I shook my head. "Stupid question."

T
he world's going to hell in a wastebasket." Shaking his head, Jerry took a deep swig of beer.

"In a hand basket," Milo corrected.

"That's what I said."

Milo and I exchanged a look, but we didn't say anything.

And Jerry didn't notice. "It's all a sign that Armageddon is on its way. All the earthquakes, for example."

I couldn't tell them the earthquakes were me and not Armageddon. Though, come to think of it, I could very well be Armageddon, too. I ducked behind the bar to finish stocking beer bottles—and so they wouldn't read the guilt on my face.

"When have we ever had so many earthquakes?"

"Seismic activity is to be expected when you live on a fault line," Milo replied.

"But not regular, large ones like we've been having. They've been predicting that California's going to fall into the ocean. I'm telling you it's gonna happen soon."

Especially if I didn't get a grip on
tu ch’i,
I thought as I crammed a couple more bottles into the fridge.

"And all the recent murders," Jerry continued.

"Murder rates are always high in metropolitan areas," Milo pointed out. "That's no sign of Armageddon."

"Gabe, tell the moron that things ain't what they seem."

Wiping my hands on a rag, I stood up and looked back and forth between the two of them. "It's kind of unsettling having someone murdered so close to where you hang out, isn't it?"

Jerry smacked his palm on the countertop. "That's what I'm talking about. I knew she'd understand."

Hell, yeah, I understood. I understood too well. I scrubbed the bar more vigorously than it needed.

It's shocking to the system to find out a guy you had a scuffle with was murdered. But when you thought the guy had something that belonged to you, and now that something was missing, there was this feeling of unease that bordered on severe nausea. Because I'd been pretty sure he'd had the scroll. Where else would it be?

Tu ch’i
shoved at me—again—as if punctuating my thought.
Shut up,
I hissed mentally, pushing back. Picking up my ginger ale, I took a sip to ease my queasiness, which had tripled over the afternoon and evening. Not that it helped, because I wasn't nauseous from my stomach but from the roiling of
tu ch’i.
It was comforting, though. My mom used to give me ginger ale when I was sick.

Sigh. I pushed the glass aside.

"We're outta here, Gabe," Jerry called as he stood up. "You look peaky. Maybe you should head home early tonight."

Milo whacked him in the shoulder. "You don't tell a woman that."

"What?" Jerry frowned as he dropped a couple bills on the counter. "I'm just concerned about her."

I did my best to smile at them. "Thanks, guys. Maybe I'll do that since Vivian's here tonight."

Both their noses wrinkled at the mention of her name. I smiled genuinely for the first time all day. "You need to get going. You're here late. I don't want your wives coming in accusing me of keeping you."

"More like they'd thank you." Milo patted my hand. "You take care when you go home. You should find a man, then
he
could make sure you get home safely."

As if on cue, Rhys strode in.

My back stiffened, and my face went slack. I hadn't expected to see him so soon—I don't know why—and I wasn't prepared.

Milo must have sensed my uncertainty, because he said, "Or at least take a cab, okay? It's not safe on the streets these days."

Didn't I know it?

They waved on their way out, and I waited for Rhys to come over to me.

What would he say when I told him I no longer had the scroll? Would he pack up and go back to wherever he came from? I studied his face, trying to gauge his mood. He just looked implacable.

"You hung up on me," was all he said by way of greeting.

Shrugging, I wiped the counter. "I had things to do."

His brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"Why? Do you sense something about my scroll?" I asked, trying not to sound worried but knowing I failed.

"No." He looked confused. "Only you are tied to your scroll."

"Then what makes you think something's wrong?"

"You're moving stiffly." His frown grew more pronounced. "Are you favoring your ribs?"

My arms wrapped around my midriff without thought.

"Lift your shirt."

I sputtered in shock before I could answer. "You can't command me to disrobe at will. Especially while I'm at work."

He looked like he wanted to argue the point. Instead he raked his hair and said, "Gabrielle, either you find a private place to show me your where you're hurt or I'll strip you bare right here."

Despite his deceptively mild tone, there was no doubt in my mind that he meant it. Glaring at him, I wadded my apron, tossed it under the counter, and called out to Vivian that I was taking a break. Without a word to Rhys, I walked toward Johnny's office. Like he wasn't going to follow.

I let him in and closed the door behind us. Leaning against it, I watched him warily.

"Your shirt, Gabrielle," he prompted, hands in his pockets. He looked calm, but his tight jawline gave him away.

The urge to push him overcame me. I lifted my chin.

Suddenly he had me pressed against the door and my shirt pushed under my armpits. For comfort, I'd decided against a bra today, and the air pebbled my bare nipples. I thought he would have noticed, but his attention was a bit lower.

"Bloody hell." He inhaled sharply. "Who did this?"

"No one."

He impaled me with a death stare.

And I caved. With a shrug, I said as carelessly as I could, "This guy attacked me last night—"

His fist slammed into the door, and I felt the impact through my body. T knew if I turned my head, I'd see an imprint in the plywood, but taking my eyes off him didn't seem wise at the moment.

Not that I thought he'd harm me. For some reason, I felt completely safe. Unbelievable, considering his recent confessions.
Tu ch’i
had apparently addled my brain more than I realized.

Rhys's touch as he traced the bruises was beyond gentle. The look in his eyes—not so much. "Tell me who did this," he commanded, his voice raw.

"Some thug. He's long gone." Slight exaggeration, but he didn't need to know that.

His jaw clenched and unclenched. To my surprise, he dropped to his knees in front of me, his hands spanning my waist.

Uncomfortable with him bowing like this before me, I tried to move away. "What are you doing?"

"Stay still."

I could feel his breath on my skin. Goose bumps rose all over, and my body went on alert (some parts more than others). Excitement and fear gripped my chest so my own breath came in shallow pants.

Slowly—ever so slowly—he inched forward. His lips brushed the edge of one of the bruises, so lightly I thought I imagined it. Then he pressed, and heat suffused my skin.

"Rhys." I gasped, grabbing his head. "What—"

"Shut your mouth and let me do this for you."

"I don't know what
this
is," I protested.

"This." He kissed another bruise, and another, lingering until I squirmed under his fiery mouth. He licked a trail up my rib cage, stopping just below my breasts. He sucked my skin there, and I went up in flames.

His fingers lingered under the swell of my breasts, and I held my breath wondering if he was going to grace my nipples with his kisses. God, I wanted it.

He lifted his head, his eyes searing. "How do you feel?"

Hot. Wet. Edgy.

Then it occurred to me my ribs didn't hurt as much. I twisted my torso, frowning. "Better."

"Next time you get in trouble, call me." Standing, he pulled my shirt back down.

I almost groaned in disappointment. "Next time?"

He nodded. "I have the feeling trouble follows you quite closely." He dropped a brief but electric kiss on my mouth, moved me aside, and walked out of the office.

Lifting my shirt, I looked at my midriff. The bruises weren't nearly as livid as before. How did he do that? More importantly, could
I
do that? And would he teach me if I took him up on his offer?

As I went back to my station, I wondered if I should have told him I lost the scroll.

No.
The answer resounded in my head. I had no doubt that he'd find the scroll. Then he'd either return it to me or take it for himself and leave. Neither option thrilled me.

Around nine, I was debating leaving Vivian to deal with all the customers (murder—especially if it was a couple blocks away—was good for business) when Inspector Ramirez walked in again.

Shit.
I whirled around to put away the vodka bottle in my hand—at least that's what I would have said. Really, I wanted to compose myself before he ferreted out anything I didn't want him to know. I was still a little dazed—and turned on—by Rhys's healing kisses.

Vivian inhaled sharply. "Wow. Talk about sexy."

My hackles rose at the thought of her even looking at Rhys. Eyes narrowed, I turned to warn her off when I saw it was just the inspector.

And he was headed this way. Damn.

Like before, he was completely buttoned up. I wondered how anyone could be so restrained all day.

Time to buck up and deal. I nodded at him. "Inspector."

"Hello, Ms. Sansouci. I was hoping you'd still be here."