Good Cop, Bad Cop Page 10

  She widened her eyes at his tone. He expected her to have a tantrum but she didn’t. She walked into the bedroom and closed the door. Now, if she’d just keep away from the window and gave them time to deal with this crap, they’d be fine.

  He yanked open a drawer beside the sink and reached into the back, drawing out an envelope they’d hidden there. He counted out the cash—half of their spends gone now—and returned on deck. Dillon and Baldy were cracking up, talking like they’d known one another for years. Despite his inherent surliness, Dillon had a way about him, gauging people and how they should be treated, falling easily into whatever role a situation demanded. Jose thanked the ever-loving Lord for that. He wasn’t up to playing the lead part on this one. It was too close to home.

  As he approached the railing, his stomach churned.

  “Say,” Baldy said. “Your partner here’s a fucking scream. How about we come aboard your boat and hit the pipe together?”

  Oh Jesus, no.

  “Hell, yeah!” Dillon said. “How many pals you got with you, man? We can have ourselves a good damn laugh. And I need one.” He jerked his head at Jose. “Because he is boring as all get out.”

  Jose puffed up his chest, going for being prickled. “Hey!”

  Dillon laughed. “Oh, come on! You never walk on the wild side. Always being good. About time you lightened up a bit.”

  “Whatever,” Jose said, frowning, doing his best to appear hurt.

  “Come on, here’s the money,” Dillon said, reaching out.

  “No problem on that,” Baldy said. “I’ll just call my buddy and we’ll take your cash when we climb aboard.”

  Jose knew Dillon could have headed this in another direction, made out they were on a strict course and had to get going. Buy the drugs and get the hell out of here. But he’d taken the other option. Lure the bastards aboard and subdue them below deck, find out what they were all about. It was too much of a coincidence that he’d appeared, quite literally out of the blue. Dillon obviously wanted to know what his game was.

  That was all well and good, but India was down there—and she posed a massive problem. She hadn’t done as Dillon had told her, staying in the bedroom. Who was to say she wouldn’t come back out again when they all trooped downstairs? And if she didn’t and they had a poke about, she’d be found easier than an ocean in the desert. For fuck’s sake, he could even smell her—flowers and woman, a sweet, musky perfume that lingered in the air.

  “Right on,” Dillon said. “This way then.”

  “I’ll just…I’ll just go and tidy up a bit,” Jose said. Lame, so fucking lame. But it had been all he could think of to grab a bit of time alone with India.

  “Proper little Mummy’s boy, isn’t he?” Baldy said, roaring with short-lived laughter. “Hey, Freddie. Get the hell out here. We got a party to go to.”

  Jose walked to the steps, hoping he looked casual. He rushed to India’s bedroom, glad to find she was sitting on the bed and not nosing out the window. She stared at him wide-eyed, one shaking hand at her chest. Yeah, he realized she was frightened now, but what could he do?

  He closed the door and leaned against it. “I don’t have much time. You have to stay in here, understand me?”

  She nodded. “What’s going on?”

  “They’re drug dealers. Coming on board.”

  “Oh, God. Are you sure?”

  “What? Of course I’m sure!” But he hadn’t seen the crack, no evidence that’s what they were really doing out here. Realization dawned and he struggled to maintain a face that didn’t reveal his concern. “Come on, you can’t seriously think it might be the note writer?” Jesus fucking Christ. I didn’t think. Didn’t damn well think again! “They’re just out here to sell. Seen it on the streets a hundred times or more. His type, the way he stands. He’s even bringing his buddy.” But I didn’t see or hear his buddy… “So, we’ll make sure they get good and comfortable, relax a little and then check them out.” He went to her, sitting beside her on the bed. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing to worry about. It’ll be over within the hour. Just stay in here, you got that?”

  She nodded again, looking at him with such honest-to-goodness trust he found it difficult to keep eye contact with her.

  “If I could see them,” she said. “I’d know whether they’re any of my staff.”

  “No. If they catch sight of you, if they’re your staff…” He paused and shook his head, tried to rid images of what could happen if they’d just invited crazed fans aboard. “And if they aren’t your staff or the note writer, just dealers…whatever, they can’t see you.”

  “Okay. I get it, but—”

  “They’re not nice guys okay.” He gripped her wrist, hating the fact he squeezed, but he hadn’t got through to her yet. She didn’t realize the danger. “So no buts. You stay in here until either me or Dillon say you can come out. Right?”

  “Right,” she said on a sigh and looked toward the window.

  Jose stared at the purple and red blotch staining her neck and wondered why the hell Dillon had felt the need to mark her. As if they didn’t have enough issues to cope with. Giving a damn starlet a hickey could only be a bad thing, especially when he would have to balance it out with one of his own.

  The boat dipped slightly and several footsteps sounded above. He stopped thinking about his mouth on the pale, delicate skin of India’s inner thigh and came back to the crisis at hand.

  Fuck it, here we go.

  He released her wrist and stood. “I mean it. Do not leave this room.”

  Jose opened the door, not bothering to glare at her before he shut it. She had a mind of her own, a stubborn will, and he suspected no amount of warnings from him were going to work if she had it in her head to disobey him. He’d have to remain alert, sit closest to where she’d be if she chose to ignore what he’d said and make an appearance. An hour. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

  In the living area, he flopped onto a chair and watched Dillon’s feet appear on the steps. Jose widened his eyes and tilted his head slightly in the direction of the bedrooms to warn him all was not well in that regard. Dillon strolled toward the sofa, lips a grim line, then sat casually, one arm draped over the back as though he had no worries. And smiled.

  Jose wondered if the men had spied the bulk of Dillon’s gun in his shorts.

  Only Baldy joined them. He sat on the other end of the sofa, lifted his ass and stuffed the two hundred dollars in his shorts back pocket.

  “Where’s your pal?” Jose asked.

  “Ah, he decided he didn’t want to party,” Baldy said.

  Convenient.

  Jose resisted glancing at Dillon for confirmation a buddy actually existed. “Bit like me then. I don’t like that shit.”

  “You ever tried it?” Baldy asked, making no move to produce the crack or anything they’d need to smoke it with.

  Is this guy for real?

  “No,” Jose said.

  Dillon chuckled. “You don’t know what you’re missing, man!”

  A creak filtered through from behind Jose.

  “What was that?” Baldy asked, sitting straighter.

  “What was what?” Dillon asked.

  “That noise.” Baldy narrowed his eyes. “You got someone else on board?”

  “Hell no!” Dillon said, laughing. “Not that we’re aware of anyway!”

  Stay in the fucking room. Please, just stay in the fucking room.

  “Yeah, yeah you do,” Baldy said and pointed toward the bedroom door. “You got some chick in there, peeking out, and damned if she’s not the spitting image of India Moore.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Tugging at a thread on the T-shirt I’d found in the bedside drawer, I pressed my ear to the cool wood of the door. I was sure I recognized the coarse voice rumbling from the living area. It sounded like his throat was lined with sandpaper or broken glass; deep and growling and not particularly pleasant.

  Where had I heard it before, though? />
  The boat shifted as a wave bumped it against the vessel it was now tethered to. My shoulder rubbed on the door and the decking beneath my feet creaked. I braced, hoped the sound hadn’t traveled and continued to try to place the voice.

  If only I could see him. Maybe then…

  Very carefully I pulled open the door, just a couple of inches, and peered out.

  Fuck.

  Staring straight at me, with an expression of dumbfounded surprise, was a bald thug whose face I certainly hadn’t seen before. A glare that mean and teeth so gold would have definitely stayed in my memory.

  “Hell no!” Dillon said, laughing. “Not that we’re aware of anyway!”

  “Yeah, yeah you do,” he said, pointing at me. “You got some chick in there, peeking out, and damned if she’s not the spitting image of India Moore.”

  Dillon leaped to his feet, withdrawing a silver gun from his swimshorts. “I reckon you’re seeing things,” he said in a black voice and pointing the gun directly at the visitor.

  “For fuck’s sake.” Jose was in front of me, his face tense with anger and his eyes flashing with fury.

  He slammed the door shut, narrowly missing trapping my nose. Everything went quiet. I stared at the blue and white striped cover on the bed, my heart beating so fast it was constricting my chest and making breathing hard.

  What had I just done?

  Shit.

  I pressed my ear to the door once more, nibbled at tag of skin on my thumb. Willed my knees to not give way and suppressed the urge to vomit—just.

  “If that ain’t India Moore then I’ve just seen a really fucking horny mirage.” The same voice, cocky, not caring that a gun had been pulled on him.

  I couldn’t have heard his voice before, I knew that now I’d seen him. Because, damn, that wasn’t a pig-ugly face I’d forget in a hurry.

  “And if that’s the case,” the visitor went on, “I don’t mind seeing things that make my dick so hard I could hammer nails with it.”

  “Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Jose snapped.

  A humorless laugh rumbled through the wood. “Ha, no wonder you weren’t very fucking hospitable, you’ve got the woman everyone wants a piece of.”

  “I told you to shut the fuck up.” Jose again.

  “Or what, your partner’s going to shoot me?”

  “Yeah,” Dillon said, “that’s pretty much what’s going to happen next.”

  “You ain’t got the balls.”

  “Oh, I’ve got balls all right. Now stand the fuck up and turn around.”

  “My mate will be here in a minute, he’s a right fucking head-case. You’re going to seriously wish you hadn’t pissed us both off by pulling a gun.”

  “What fucking mate,” Dillon said with a sneer. “Like you said, you’re seeing things.”

  There was a sickening, dull bang then a thud.

  “What the fuck did you do that for?” Jose said.

  “He was getting on my damn nerves talking about her like that. And I did warn him to shut the fuck up.”

  With shaking hands I opened the door, took in the scene before me.

  Bald guy lay half across the sofa, half on the floor with his face twisted toward me and his features slack. His eyes were closed and a dark swelling protruded from this shiny head.

  “What did you do?” I asked, stepping into the room, unable to take my eyes off the contorted body and oddly angled limbs.

  “He was annoying me and I wasn’t getting any closer to finding out why he’d showed up here selling drugs but hadn’t brought any gear on board,” Dillon said, shoving his gun into the waistband of his shorts and reaching for the cuffs he’d taken off me. “Give us a hand, Jose. We need to make sure this dumb motherfucker knows he’s messed with the wrong guys.”

  Another thud and the man was unceremoniously dumped entirely onto the floor. Dillon attached the cuffs to his wrists and Jose grabbed hold of his ankles.

  “Is he dead?” I asked, panic searing through me.

  “Nope, just having a real deep sleep,” Dillon said.

  “In there?” Jose asked, nodding to the room I’d just vacated.

  “Yep, that’ll do.”

  They began to drag the unconscious man along the floor, not caring about bumping and banging him as they went. The other side of his head was subjected to a brutal crash against the corner of a cabinet.

  “What are you doing? You’ll hurt him.”

  “If he’s hurt then you’re to blame, India. You were told to stay out of sight until we got answers or got rid of him,” Jose said, his teeth gritted.

  “But, I—”

  “But you just couldn’t help yourself, you had to sneak a peek.”

  “Because I thought I recognized his voice.” I skittered from foot to foot as Jose and Dillon struggled to lift the man’s bulk onto the bed. There was lots of heaving and grunting until finally he was laid prone.

  “Where’s your cuffs, Jose?” Dillon asked.

  “In the other bedroom.” Jose strolled past me, his movements swift and efficient, his breaths coming fast.

  Dillon settled his attention on me. “You thought you recognized his voice?”

  “Yes, I was sure I did.” I stared at the face I’d never seen before. “There was something about it, a bit rough, sore throat almost. I’m sure I’ve heard it before.”

  Dillon huffed. “And do you know him?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I don’t think so. He would be someone I’d remember because…”

  Jose pushed past me and tossed another pair of cuffs at Dillon.

  Dillon caught them but kept looking at me. “Because?”

  “Because, he looks…so mean.”

  “Too fucking right he’s mean.” Jose frowned and folded his arms. I noticed he too had a gun shoved in the waistband of his shorts now. “He’s the sort of mean that wouldn’t think twice about feeding me and Dillon to the sharks and then inviting his mates round to have a party in you.”

  “A party in me.”

  Jose drew his mouth into a tight line and narrowed his eyes.

  “Oh,” I said, pressing my fingers over my lips.

  “Yeah, in you,” Jose said, “so we’re not exactly worried that he’s got a few little bumps on his head.”

  Dillon secured the second set of cuffs between a rail on the wall and the cuffs Baldy was already wearing, making it impossible for him to move off the bed if he woke up. He was trapped, on his back, with his arms locked above his head.

  “But fuck knows what we’re going to do with him now.” Dillon shoved his hand through is hair and squeezed his eyes shut. “Damn, this is such a fucking crock of shit. All I wanted was a peaceful holiday.” His tanned cheeks flushed red and his jaw tensed, as did every other muscle and tendon in his body, making him look like a bull about to charge.

  He walked over to the wall, balled his fist and thumped the paneling—hard.

  I yelped and jumped backward, the sound of splintering wood crackling through my ears. My injured foot complained at the jerky movement.

  “Jesus Christ, man, you’ll have to fucking pay for that,” Jose shouted, rushing over and examining the hole in the wall. “Damn it.”

  Dillon practically growled as he glowered first at Jose and then me. “She can pay for it, she’s fucking rich enough, and if it hadn’t been for her we wouldn’t be in this shit.”

  He pushed past me, his shoulder knocking into mine and making me lose my balance. I stumbled backward, grabbing a cabinet.

  “So now what are you fucking doing?” Jose called after Dillon.

  “I’m going on board his boat, to see if I can find something to stitch him up with, other than just being the fucking asshole that is.”

  Jose tore duct tape off a big roll and slapped it over our visitor’s mouth, then, holding the whole thing, wrapped several loops around his ankles.

  I watched in silence, listening to the tearing and squeaking of the tape and wishing I could wake up from the ni
ghtmare my life had become. In three hours’ time I was supposed to be performing in front of a hundred thousand people in Miami. Instead I was on a boat, in the middle of the ocean with two hot cops who were mad as hell at me, and one thug who wanted to use me as a party piece and who may or may not be part of the plot to kill me.

  I turned and walked away. I needed air—the lower deck was suddenly hot and stuffy. As I went through the kitchen I grabbed a can of diet cola out of the cooler and pressed it to my forehead. I knew I should eat something too, but I just couldn’t face it.

  Climbing up the steps into the open, I breathed deep and noticed the sun was slipping toward the horizon. Soon it would be night.

  There was a noise on the deck behind me. I turned and saw Jose. Golden sunlight sliced across his bare chest, caressing the dips and rises of his pecs and highlighting his small brown nipples and that damn cute tattoo. My heart sped up and my body buzzed. Despite everything that was happening, I couldn’t help but remember how expertly he’d touched me earlier. He had indeed lived up to his promise of making me forget everything, even if it was just for a few minutes.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, gripping the cold can.

  He shrugged just a little and glanced out to sea.

  I suddenly felt terrible that I’d disappointed him, let him down. But more than that I hated that he just seemed to accept disappointment, like it was an all too familiar part of his life and he’d learned to ride with it, take it on the chin.

  “I wish I could turn back time,” I said.

  “Don’t we all.” He walked past me and sat on the bench Dillon and I had fucked on earlier. Rested his elbows on his knees, hung his head and stared at the deck.

  I sat next to him and popped the ring-pull on my can, took a sip. “Here,” I said, passing it to him.

  He drank deeply, making small gulping sounds as he swallowed.