| |
THE CALL CAME IN AS Victor was winding down for the night. He'd already processed all his paperwork, and he was starving; the pastrami sandwich he'd eaten on his break had not been sufficient to get him through his shift.
With a population of nearly 70,000, Midtown wasn't much bigger than a small town, but the crime rate was low, and the police station looked like something right out of a classic Hollywood television show. The building was an historical landmark, with pillars framing the huge oak double doors that opened into the foyer. The receptionist sat at a heavily-scrolled information desk in front of a Wall of Fame with portraits of officers who'd come and gone through the years. The dispatch office was off to one side behind security glass paneling, and depending on the time of day, there were at least two or more people sitting at the long counter taking calls.
"Hey Romeo! I know you're getting ready to head out, but you might want to take this one." Sarah waved a paper at him as he passed by the door that was propped open. "It's your girl, Juliette." She teased him relentlessly about Juliette Gustafson. After he pulled her over the second time, he'd come back to the station and regaled her with the story of their encounter. When Sarah found out he'd gone to her home to check on her at the end of the night, she wouldn't let it go, teasing him about going above and beyond the call of duty, even though she knew he'd never take advantage of his authority that way.
He didn't mind Sarah's jabs. She was level-headed, good-natured, and always remained calm under pressure. It's what made her such a great dispatcher. She knew how to get the facts and keep her wits about her, even when she was dealing with weeping mothers, terrified children, or worse.
He took the printout and read over it quickly. When he looked up, his brow was furrowed. "Is this a joke?"
Sarah shrugged. "I asked the woman twice. She swears it's true and is demanding someone come shut the place down. She seemed legitimately concerned for her personal safety. Maybe you should take a back-up."
Victor kept glancing at the words in front of him. A call-girl service? Juliette Gustafson was a call-girl? Nothing about her indicated to him that she might be involved in anything so seedy. Her neighbor's words, however, left little to the imagination. Juliette had different men over every week. Once, the woman claimed, there'd even been a fight in front of the house, one that involved some physical violence.
"Why didn't she call us then? About the fight?"
"She did, remember? Granted, it was a few days late, but that's why you went out there in the first place. It's a little confusing to me, but from what I gather, at first she really didn't want to get involved. She thought the guy was the boyfriend, that it was just a lover's quarrel. But now this Mrs. Cork believes the boyfriend is really Juliette's pimp-daddy."
"Pimp-daddy?" It all seemed so absurd, right down to the terminology.
"Her word, not mine," Sarah chuckled. But the humor didn't reach her eyes. Victor was clearly disturbed by the information, and he could see she was having second thoughts about giving him the call rather than handing it off to someone on the next shift. "She says the latest guy is a Hell's Angel, and he's disturbing the peace with his loud motorcycle."
~ ~ ~
"WHY DO I EVEN CARE?" Victor asked himself as he drove slowly from the station to her home. But that was exactly why he was taking his time to get there; he was trying to figure out why he was so stirred up by the notion of Juliette Gustafson being paid to entertain men. Was it really because it didn't seem possible, or was it because he didn't want it to be true?
Frustrated, he thumped the backrest of the passenger seat with his closed fist. "Get it together, man. She's a woman. It doesn't have to make sense." And like an on/off switch, his blood began to cool. "That's right, Vic," he nodded, breathing himself out of the closed-in sensation that accompanied any emotional flare up. "Did you really think that wide-eyed innocence was real?" He rolled down his window, letting the night air cool his flushed cheeks. "Man, red flags! She changed on a dime, remember? Hissing and clawing like a barn cat, then purring like a kitten, waving sweetly from the front steps." He shook his head over how easily he'd been fooled. "Fell for it hook, line, and sinker, didn't you."
By the time he turned down Juliette's street, he felt in complete control of his emotions.
When he saw her sitting companionably with a man on her front porch, he was glad for the opportunity to study her behavior and body language without her realizing.
When he recognized Trevor Zander, he felt something tighten in his gut, and he hoped and prayed that the neighbor was wrong; that his friend had a completely different reason for hanging out with Juliette Gustafson than what her neighbor claimed.
When Juliette rose and came toward them, Victor became absolutely certain the neighbor was right about her. She looked nothing like she had the other night, and he found it difficult to swallow as he watched her approach.
Maybe it was the boots that made her walk that way, but he was not prepared for the tantalizing sway of her hips that her tight jeans only served to accentuate. He forced himself to lift his gaze to her face, but her features were back-lit, and he couldn't read them. He did notice, however, the way her leather jacket slipped off her right shoulder as she walked, taking the fabric of her shirt with it. The pale curve of her neck and shoulder glowed like a beacon, and he clenched his teeth to keep the accusations from spilling out of his mouth. She stopped in front of him, sidling a little too closely to Trevor for Victor's comfort.
When he looked down at her face, now illuminated by the street lamp behind him, he almost cringed. There was that vulnerable uncertainty in her smoky eyes again, a look that made his blood run faster. But this was no longer the weepy girl in the pink bathrobe and messy hair. Tonight she was mesmerizing, a terrifying combination of fragility and mystery. He would not fall for it. And if he had any say about it, neither would Trevor.
When he took Juliette's soft hand in his, the warmth in his belly became a blaze, and he had to resist the impulse to jerk his hand away, clasping hers tighter and more firmly instead. He saw her bewilderment over his rough handling, and scowled in response.
Nothing about this night was lining up; nothing. He didn't like the way he was feeling, and he didn't like that he was struggling so hard to keep his emotions in check. He didn't understand his reaction to her, and, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what Trevor Zander was doing in the company of the likes of her. He had the grace to feel slightly abashed when his friend reprimanded him for being so gruff, but he wasn't going to let down his guard any time soon.
~ ~ ~
"LET ME GUESS. OUR MAN, Taz, took you for a ride. That will leave you pale and shaking every time." Victor crossed his arms and stared at her, his expression unreadable.
"I'm fine, really." She brightened at the memory of the ride. "It certainly wasn't because of the bike. I've never been on one before tonight, and it was amazing!" Then she turned and poked Trevor in the arm. "But, Taz? I completely forgot about that! When I heard your name was Taz, I was expecting something a little different. Then you introduced yourself as Trevor and it slipped my mind." She smiled as her voice took on a teasing quality, and she shot a quick glance up at the policeman. "Thank you, Officer Jarrett, for reminding me. Now fess up, Mister. Taz, as in Tazmanian Devil?"
"Trevor Aidan Zander, at your service," he said, with a bow and a flourished hand. "I suppose I was a bit of a mad thing when I was a kid. Comes from being an only child, right?" Juliette could easily imagine a miniature version of Trevor bouncing off the walls, driving everyone around him crazy.
"So what exactly did you expect?" He eyed her quizzically; so did Officer Jarrett. She stood straighter, suddenly in the spotlight again.
"Well, you're my little sister's friend. I was picturing a pimple-faced, boy-band type. Or maybe a Mohawk haircut and a studded collar?"
Officer Jarrett smirked, but she could tell his ridicule was directed at her, not at Trevor. "You haven't heard any of his music, have you?"
"Actually, I was at his concert last night." She didn't mention that her heart still ached from hearing Trevor sing again tonight. For whatever reason, this was not the man who'd come to her door a few weeks ago, asking if she was all right, promising to look out for her. What was wrong with him? What had changed? "It was amazing," she finished lamely.
"Amazing? Just like his ride?" The policeman's question dripped with sarcasm, mocking her words.
"Dude," Trevor cut in, looking from one to the other with a curious expression.
Victor looped his thumbs in his pockets and shrugged. "Surprised you liked it, that's all," he said by way of explanation. The obvious disdain in his voice cut her deeply.
She blinked away the sting behind her eyes and hugged herself against the chill that had nothing to do with the late September evening. Enough. If he wasn't here on business then maybe it was time for him to leave. "Was there something you needed to see me about, Officer?"
"See you?" His eyebrows rose as though even the thought was beneath him. "No. Just doing my rounds." He turned to Trevor, his expression not softening. "I need to get back to work. Touch base with me before you leave town, okay?"
Juliette knew it wasn't a suggestion. Trevor nodded and the two men shook hands. "Good night, Vic. I'll call you in the morning."
Officer Jarrett turned and saluted her. "Good night, Ms. Gustafson." She only nodded in response. They watched from the sidewalk as he climbed into his patrol car and drove away.
Finally, she turned to look at Trevor. He was deep in thought, concern etching shallow lines into his forehead. Afraid he might want to talk about what had just happened, and not prepared to discuss it, she spoke first. "You're leaving town?"
