Chapter 12 #2
He paused over the lingerie, inspecting lace and silk and cotton with an eye that had shifted from assessing to fascinated.
Gritting his teeth, he plunged his hand into the drawer and felt for hidden items, experience telling him the underwear drawer was the first place people thought to hide things.
There was nothing, so he pulled himself away from the satin and lace and slammed the drawer closed.
On the surface of the dresser, he found an array of bottles and vials, all filled with perfumes.
He picked up each one, taking off caps to sniff at various scents.
When he pulled the stopper out of a violet glass bottle, the fragrance he was looking for wafted up his nostrils and gripped him in its thrall.
Vanilla, musk, and what he now recognized as cinnamon and clove made his mouth water.
It was an oil, strong enough that only a few drops would be enough to have her carrying the fragrance all day.
He closed his eyes and relived catching wind of her scent for the first time.
His cock stirred to half-wakefulness as he imagined her coating two fingers in the fragrant oil and smearing it on her neck, between her breasts, over her navel, between her legs.
With a groan, he shoved the stopper back into the bottle and put it back where he’d found it.
Pushing away from the dresser, Mateo went to the bed. He struck gold, coming out from underneath it with a shoebox. He dumped its contents onto the bed and shined his flashlight over them.
First he found a collection of opened envelopes—credit card statements.
Mateo frowned at the numbers as he read them.
The limit of the credit card was $25,000 and in the name Melody Johnson, though the address on the statements were for a P.O.
Box in Baton Rouge. Oddly, there were very few charges, and they weren’t for the sorts of purchases Mateo had expected.
The balance was paid on time every month, but she had never used more than a few hundred dollars of available credit a month at hobby shops, grocery stores, and plant nurseries.
There was also a basic flip phone that had only made or received calls to one number.
There were no text messages, and the thing didn’t even have a camera.
Clearly a burner. Lastly, he found a small, palm-sized digital camera.
He hadn’t seen one like it since the early 2000s, and it couldn’t have cost much money.
But the battery was dead, and the memory card slot was empty, leaving it useless.
Taking out his own phone, he quickly saved the single number from Melody’s burner phone, hoping Darcy could assist him with a trace.
A burner that had been used to call only one person was definitely a red flag.
He then neatly arranged everything in the box and stored it back under the bed before making his way toward the bathroom.
He had just stepped on the tiles when the sound of a key scraping a lock rang out like a gunshot in the quiet apartment. Mateo stilled, listening as Melody’s low, grumbling voice filtered in from the living room. She was talking to someone on the phone.
“Yeah, I know … look, what the hell did you expect me to do? The entire bottle of champagne sprayed all over me and the cork even hit me on the head! I’m not going an entire shift with a bottle of Dom on my clothes …
I said I’d be back as fast as I can … they can manage until I get back …
yeah, okay, whatever … I’m hanging up now. ”
Mateo was forced into movement as her voice grew louder, closer.
The bathroom door had already been hanging open, so he ducked behind it and angled himself so he wouldn’t be seen.
He closed his eyes and held his breath, counting her footsteps, listening to the sound of her boots hitting the floor.
She mumbled to herself between whispers of clothes coming off, words he couldn’t decipher.
She sounded pissed. He heard the click of hangers in the closet, then more rustling.
Then, her footsteps sounded off again, coming in his direction.
Fuck.
Mateo braced himself, his every muscle tense and coiled to spring.
He would have to move fast once she laid eyes on him.
The blinding light poured onto him from overhead, stinging his eyes.
He heard the faucet turn on, then a thump and a curse.
Then, the door was swinging away from him, slamming into the casing.
Her stunned eyes went wide, and her lips parted on a scream that never came.
Mateo had a hand clapped over her mouth before she could make a sound and an arm around her waist before she could flee.
She issued a muffled scream against his palm and bucked in his hold, fingers clawing at his wrist. He propelled her back against the door, trapping her there with his body.
“Melody … Melody, stop … wait … goddamn it, listen!”
She went still at the sharp command in his voice, but those wide, frightened eyes darted left to right, as if looking for an escape route. She whimpered and shook her head, as if silently begging him not to hurt her.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I can explain, but I need you to stay calm. I need to show you something, but I have to let you go to do that. Can you promise not to scream? I won’t hurt you.”
She seemed to consider this for a moment before giving him an abrupt nod.
Maintaining her gaze, he reached into his back pocket for his credentials.
He flipped the leather billfold open and held it up.
He hadn’t wanted to play this hand so quickly, or even at all if he could help it.
But there was no way he could talk himself out of this without relying on at least a part of the truth.
“Supervisory Special Agent Garcia. FBI.”
“Oh, God,” she whimpered, closing her eyes. “Oh, God. No … no.”
He narrowed his eyes and catalogued every nuance of her reaction. Was that guilt he detected swirling with the fear in her eyes? Or something else?
“I knew it,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I knew something wasn’t right about you.”
Mateo snorted. “And I know there isn’t something right about you. Who are you, really?”
She jutted out her chin in a way that made Mateo want to bite it, before consuming her mouth. “Melody Johnson.”
“Bullshit.”
Grunting in frustration, she stomped one foot. “Look, I can’t do this anymore. Tell me what you want and then get out.”
“I want the truth, Melody. Suede, Wilson, and Morrison. How do you know them?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “They hang out at the club at least three nights a week. I’m almost always on VIP, so they know me by name. That’s all.”
Mateo snapped his credentials closed and shoved them back into his pocket. “So, a pimp, a dirty cop, and a shipping magnate walk into a bar—”
“What my customers do outside the club is none of my business.”
“And what about what goes on inside the club? Incriminating conversations? Back-room dealings?”
She backed away from him, clearing the bathroom door. “I don’t know what you have on these guys, but I can promise you it’s only the tip of the iceberg. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
Was that a threat? There was no underlying menace in her words, but he couldn’t ignore the gravity in her tone.
There was also the fact that she looked downright terrified.
Mateo followed her out of the bathroom, taking a forward step for each of her backward ones.
He tracked her into the living room until she came against the coffee table, arms wheeling as she went off balance.
Mateo grasped her by the waist to steady her, but found himself unable to let go once his hands had made contact.
She was so fragile in his hold, slender and trembling.
His suspicion that she was in some kind of trouble reached its peak.
A person with dirty hands would be defensive, answering his questions with questions and dissembling.
Melody did none of those things. She only looked at him with wide eyes and said, “If they even suspect you’re on to them, it’s already too late.”
Mateo tightened his hold and pulled her closer. “How would you know that?”
She bit her lip and cast her eyes down. “I can’t tell you.”
Mateo heaved a sigh, possessed with the urge to shake her. “Why not?”
“Because I have to look out for myself. It’s the only way I know to stay alive.”
Mateo’s eyebrows snapped together, and he searched for her eyes, for the truth.
He had thought coming here would show him what he could not see.
For sure, he had confirmed what he’d known all along.
Melody wasn’t who she claimed to be. But that was as far as his visit to the apartment had taken him.
There was nothing else; not unless he could get her to open up to him.
“If you tell me what you know, I can protect you.”
She laughed, the sound dry and humorless. Her hands came up to his chest, pushing as if to create some distance between them. Mateo refused to let go, molding her so tight against him he could feel her heartbeat. It hammered as fast and wild as his, pounding against her ribs.
“You aren’t the first man to promise me protection,” she snarled. “You aren’t even the first one with a badge. In the end, no man has ever given me anything without taking from me in return, and I always come out on the shit end when it’s all over.”
Something deep within him reacted viscerally to the vulnerability in her gaze. He still wanted to shake her, but when he was finished he wanted to pull her against his body and hold her tight. It was the headiest, most ridiculous thing he’d ever felt. He wasn’t certain how to feel about it.
“You underestimate the amount of pull I have with the bureau. I could have you in witness protection with a phone call.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll take my chances.”