Rock Chick Renegade
Page 38
The ambulance came and carted off the moaning, whining Sal. The police came at the same time and talked to everyone, including me.
I finally got a chance to see (though not meet) Hank Nightingale and Eddie Chavez.
Hank looked like a Nightingale, tall and dark, except he was the handsome All-American boy stayed good. Chavez was just as freakishly good-looking as the rest of The Boys.
They did flybys, likely hearing that Vance got shot and coming to check he was okay. When they came Vance was sitting on my back stoop; a paramedic had cut away the thigh of his jeans and was checking his wound. I was standing several feet away with Nick. Both Hank and Eddie glanced in my direction and they didn’t look like they were card carrying members of Indy and the girls’ Welcome Wagon.
Lee swung by too, another flyby to check on Vance. He didn’t stay long then he was gone.
I talked with a police detective named Jimmy Marker. I gave him a slightly tweaked version of the Sal Cordova story making Sal sound like a garden-variety stalker (which, in a way, he was).
When I was done talking, Detective Marker looked at me and asked, “You Law?”
I kept my eyes on him, my face blank and my mouth shut.
“Know you’re workin’ with Heavy,” Marker said.
I was surprised but kept silent.
“Heavy’s a good man,” Marker went on.
I nodded once, not sure where this conversation was going.
“What you’re doin’ is stupid and unsafe,” he continued.
Now I knew where this conversation was going and I kept quiet.
“You should stop or you’ll get yourself killed,” he advised and his voice was both sharp and concerned. I figured they taught this in cop school.
I didn’t reply.
“Or you’ll get someone else killed,” he finished.
It took a great deal of effort but I stayed silent and didn’t bite my lip like I wanted to.
He watched me, shook his head and then muttered, strangely, under his breath, “These boys need to get their heads examined.”
Then he walked away.
I drove Vance to the hospital in my Camaro.
He was right, it wasn’t that bad. He got cleaned up, stitched up, came out of the treatment room with his jeans on, the thigh cut away and I could see a white bandage there.
We went back to Hazel.
“Where do you live?” I asked when we were standing by Hazel.
Before I knew what he was about, he took the keys from my hand.
“Spendin’ the night with you,” he replied.
“What are you doing? Give me my keys,” I made a grab for them but he yanked them out of reach.
“Get in the car,” he ordered.
“No one drives Hazel but me,” I told him.
“Hazel?” he asked.
“My Camaro,” I replied.
He stared at me for a beat then grinned and shook his head as if I was downright adorable. This caused me to feel that sweet warmth again but I shook it off and focused on our current verbal tussle.
“Crowe,” I said warningly.
The grin faded. “Please don’t argue, Jules. Just get in the car.” This he said in a weary voice.
I sucked in my lips, his weary voice getting to me. I walked to the passenger side and Vance took me home.
Upon entry he locked the door behind us and turned to arm my alarm and I went directly to my dressers, rooting through them to find my least sexy night apparel (I had none). I settled on a baby blue silk nightgown that looked like an old fashioned slip. It was tight against the midriff, had an a-lined skirt that skimmed my knees and a thick rim of ecru lace along the top and bottom edges. I stalked to the bathroom, leaving Vance to do whatever he wanted to do (which was what he’d do anyway).
Now, I didn’t know what to do. The heat of the moment was over and my emotional Rottweiler had woken up and was on the alert.
I put my hair in a sloppy bun at the back of my head with a ponytail holder, stared at my face in the mirror, took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and left the bathroom.
Better to get it over with, whatever “it” might be.
The house was dark when I got out of the bathroom except a dim light came from the bed platform. I went to the steps, climbed up one and saw Vance under the covers, comforter up to his waist, a bunch of my pillows behind his back so he was sitting up.
His chest was bare. Boo was lying smack in the middle of it, his tail sweeping in a wide arc along Vance’s abs and waist. Vance was stroking him and I could hear Boo purring from where I was standing.
Clearly Boo didn’t object to a new presence in the house.
Vance’s eyes moved to me and I climbed into bed as gracefully as I could (which I feared wasn’t graceful at all). Then I crawled to the opposite side, as far away from Vance as I could get, and got under the covers.
I laid back, stared at the ceiling and wondered what Vance had on under the covers, if he had anything on at all.
At the final thought, my breath went funny.
“Jules.”
“What?” I said to the ceiling.
“Come here.”
I thought about fighting it and decided against it. Don’t ask me why but it had been a weird day, in fact, it had been a weird four months. With my work, my training and my nightly patrol and now my head-to-head battle with Vance, I was tired and I simply didn’t have it in me.
I scooted closer. Vance’s arm came around my back, curled me into his side and I had no choice but to rest my head against his shoulder. I laid there, body tense. I didn’t know what to do with my hands so I tucked one arm underneath me and stroked Boo’s side with the other.
“How’s your leg?” I asked.
“I’ll live,” he answered.
“I’m sorry. It’s my fault you got shot.”
“It isn’t your fault Sal Cordova is a moron.”
This was true. I went silent.
Vance reached up and turned out the light. In the darkness I felt his heat seeping into me and my body began to relax.
I laid there for awhile and listened to Boo purring. I stopped stroking him and rested my hand on Vance a few inches below my face. I was getting the impression that nothing was going to happen at this juncture to continue the night’s sexual activities. Vance was action man, if he meant to make a move he would have done so by now.
I took a deep breath and let it out and my body relaxed more.
“I ruined our second date,” I whispered.
He didn’t say anything.
I went silent again.
Then for some bizarre reason, I started talking.
“I told you I went there for my sixteenth birthday. Nick took me.”
I finally got a chance to see (though not meet) Hank Nightingale and Eddie Chavez.
Hank looked like a Nightingale, tall and dark, except he was the handsome All-American boy stayed good. Chavez was just as freakishly good-looking as the rest of The Boys.
They did flybys, likely hearing that Vance got shot and coming to check he was okay. When they came Vance was sitting on my back stoop; a paramedic had cut away the thigh of his jeans and was checking his wound. I was standing several feet away with Nick. Both Hank and Eddie glanced in my direction and they didn’t look like they were card carrying members of Indy and the girls’ Welcome Wagon.
Lee swung by too, another flyby to check on Vance. He didn’t stay long then he was gone.
I talked with a police detective named Jimmy Marker. I gave him a slightly tweaked version of the Sal Cordova story making Sal sound like a garden-variety stalker (which, in a way, he was).
When I was done talking, Detective Marker looked at me and asked, “You Law?”
I kept my eyes on him, my face blank and my mouth shut.
“Know you’re workin’ with Heavy,” Marker said.
I was surprised but kept silent.
“Heavy’s a good man,” Marker went on.
I nodded once, not sure where this conversation was going.
“What you’re doin’ is stupid and unsafe,” he continued.
Now I knew where this conversation was going and I kept quiet.
“You should stop or you’ll get yourself killed,” he advised and his voice was both sharp and concerned. I figured they taught this in cop school.
I didn’t reply.
“Or you’ll get someone else killed,” he finished.
It took a great deal of effort but I stayed silent and didn’t bite my lip like I wanted to.
He watched me, shook his head and then muttered, strangely, under his breath, “These boys need to get their heads examined.”
Then he walked away.
I drove Vance to the hospital in my Camaro.
He was right, it wasn’t that bad. He got cleaned up, stitched up, came out of the treatment room with his jeans on, the thigh cut away and I could see a white bandage there.
We went back to Hazel.
“Where do you live?” I asked when we were standing by Hazel.
Before I knew what he was about, he took the keys from my hand.
“Spendin’ the night with you,” he replied.
“What are you doing? Give me my keys,” I made a grab for them but he yanked them out of reach.
“Get in the car,” he ordered.
“No one drives Hazel but me,” I told him.
“Hazel?” he asked.
“My Camaro,” I replied.
He stared at me for a beat then grinned and shook his head as if I was downright adorable. This caused me to feel that sweet warmth again but I shook it off and focused on our current verbal tussle.
“Crowe,” I said warningly.
The grin faded. “Please don’t argue, Jules. Just get in the car.” This he said in a weary voice.
I sucked in my lips, his weary voice getting to me. I walked to the passenger side and Vance took me home.
Upon entry he locked the door behind us and turned to arm my alarm and I went directly to my dressers, rooting through them to find my least sexy night apparel (I had none). I settled on a baby blue silk nightgown that looked like an old fashioned slip. It was tight against the midriff, had an a-lined skirt that skimmed my knees and a thick rim of ecru lace along the top and bottom edges. I stalked to the bathroom, leaving Vance to do whatever he wanted to do (which was what he’d do anyway).
Now, I didn’t know what to do. The heat of the moment was over and my emotional Rottweiler had woken up and was on the alert.
I put my hair in a sloppy bun at the back of my head with a ponytail holder, stared at my face in the mirror, took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and left the bathroom.
Better to get it over with, whatever “it” might be.
The house was dark when I got out of the bathroom except a dim light came from the bed platform. I went to the steps, climbed up one and saw Vance under the covers, comforter up to his waist, a bunch of my pillows behind his back so he was sitting up.
His chest was bare. Boo was lying smack in the middle of it, his tail sweeping in a wide arc along Vance’s abs and waist. Vance was stroking him and I could hear Boo purring from where I was standing.
Clearly Boo didn’t object to a new presence in the house.
Vance’s eyes moved to me and I climbed into bed as gracefully as I could (which I feared wasn’t graceful at all). Then I crawled to the opposite side, as far away from Vance as I could get, and got under the covers.
I laid back, stared at the ceiling and wondered what Vance had on under the covers, if he had anything on at all.
At the final thought, my breath went funny.
“Jules.”
“What?” I said to the ceiling.
“Come here.”
I thought about fighting it and decided against it. Don’t ask me why but it had been a weird day, in fact, it had been a weird four months. With my work, my training and my nightly patrol and now my head-to-head battle with Vance, I was tired and I simply didn’t have it in me.
I scooted closer. Vance’s arm came around my back, curled me into his side and I had no choice but to rest my head against his shoulder. I laid there, body tense. I didn’t know what to do with my hands so I tucked one arm underneath me and stroked Boo’s side with the other.
“How’s your leg?” I asked.
“I’ll live,” he answered.
“I’m sorry. It’s my fault you got shot.”
“It isn’t your fault Sal Cordova is a moron.”
This was true. I went silent.
Vance reached up and turned out the light. In the darkness I felt his heat seeping into me and my body began to relax.
I laid there for awhile and listened to Boo purring. I stopped stroking him and rested my hand on Vance a few inches below my face. I was getting the impression that nothing was going to happen at this juncture to continue the night’s sexual activities. Vance was action man, if he meant to make a move he would have done so by now.
I took a deep breath and let it out and my body relaxed more.
“I ruined our second date,” I whispered.
He didn’t say anything.
I went silent again.
Then for some bizarre reason, I started talking.
“I told you I went there for my sixteenth birthday. Nick took me.”
