Detectives
ESTELLE
My whole body is blushing.
I bury my head in Carlos’ neck to hide, as if Grayson can’t see my ass in all its naked glory and his boss buried deep in me.
“Just a reminder: Doc said you need rest and to avoid all strenuous activity,” he says sternly.
Once the door shuts, I release a shaky breath, cheeks flaming. Carlos starts to shake with laughter.
I pull back to look at him, completely enamored by the sound. His features are slack, the corners of his eyes crinkling and dimples showing.
“What?” I ask, smiling too.
“I think my head of security just scolded me.” He snickers and shakes his head.
“I think he scolded both of us.”
Carlos laughs harder, but his expression quickly shifts into a pained wince, his brows furrowing and body going still.
I start to stand up. Somehow, he’s still hard, and we both groan as he slowly slides out of my aching core.
How am I hungry for him again?
He grabs my hips gently, trying to pull me back down. “I’m not done with you.”
I shake my head, smiling. “Grayson is right. We can resume once you’re better.”
He groans. “How am I being ordered around right now?”
I step off him, ignoring the wetness slowly seeping out of me and quickly pull on my panties. Carlos watches me with hooded eyes.
“Me next,” he drawls with a crooked smile, nodding towards his dick. “I’m injured, after all.”
My cheeks flame at the wet mess on the front of his sweatpants.
“Oh no,” I shake my head, “you’re not that sick.”
His eyes darken as he grabs his dick, sliding his hand slowly up, then down, our combined wetness providing all the lubrication he needs.
I bite the inside of my cheek and look away.
This was supposed to be our first date, and I lost all control.
How long have I even known this man?
I’m buttoning the chef’s jacket when he stands up and walks towards me, still gripping himself.
“Carlos,” I whisper when his mouth finds the nape of my neck, sucking softly. “You need rest.”
I push him away gently.
He groans. “It’s just bruises. I wasn’t even really shot.”
Is it my imagination, or is this hardened mafia boss whining?
I chuckle before I can help myself.
He looks up at my face. “What?”
“You’re really bad at resting, aren’t you?”
He sighs dramatically. “Fine. Your loss,” he says with a shrug.
Long fingers grip my chin to steady my face as he leans in for a devastating kiss.
Once more, I’m a mess when he lets me go. He smiles devilishly, then turns to walk toward the bathroom, but not before letting me see his hand sliding down his still rock-hard dick once more.
This infuriating man.
I leave before I follow him into the bathroom.
Grayson is in the kitchen, eating dinner while leaning against the counter. He cocks an eyebrow at me when I walk in, his mouth closing around a generous slice of lasagna.
I shift my gaze to the large screen on the wall showing the news, so I don’t have to deal with the judgmental and amused look on his face.
“...responded to a shoot out this afternoon near a bodega in downtown Los Angeles. Witnesses say the incident began with a drive-by shooting that escalated when shots were returned.
“The target was reportedly businessman and philanthropist Carlos Fuentes, though there is yet no confirmation by law enforcement that this was, in fact, an attempt on his life.
“The perpetrators were killed on sight by the security detail of Mr. Fuentes. A spokesperson of the business mogul said one bodyguard is being treated after sustaining non-life-threatening injuries, while Mr. Fuentes was completely unharmed."
They show a video of downtown LA—an area I’m familiar with—with storefront windows shot out, glass littering the sidewalk, a bullet hole riddled SUV, and a puddle of blood on the asphalt. Yellow tape surrounds the crime scene.
I look back at Grayson to find him watching me, eyes guarded, assessing.
Keeping my expression neutral, I go to wash the dirty pots and utensils. Grayson comes to stand beside me, silently washing his own plate in the second sink.
“Ross is waiting to take you home,” he says without looking at me. “Should I tell him to go on without you?”
The soapy sponge in my hand stills on the cast iron pan. “No. I’m going home.”
He nods once and walks away.
It’s only when I hear the kitchen door open and close that I breathe in deeply and exhale slowly.
A shoot out.
People killed.
One bodyguard treated for injuries.
Carlos completely unharmed.
Clearly, Carlos is not completely unharmed, but it makes sense that he wouldn’t want his enemies to even have the satisfaction of knowing they came close.
Real close.
Too close.
Before I knew Carlos, I would hear of the Grim Reaper on the streets, his name whispered in conversation. Depending on who you spoke to, they will tell you the grim reaper is either the stuff of nightmares or a superhero.
Invincible.
Only he’s not.
The image of him wincing as he pulled me closer on his lap fills my already frazzled mind.
He can get hurt.
He can die.
*******************
I can’t sleep.
By the time morning light filters through the closed curtain, I’m wide awake, still warring with my emotions. I have known Carlos for less than two weeks, and I already have incredibly complicated feelings about him.
I can’t be with him.
I can’t be his whore, either.
What I can be is his chef.
But chefs don’t fuck their employers in the middle of a date.
I groan and turn over, hiding under the covers, realizing once more how badly I’ve messed up.
The news last night was a wake up call, cutting through the thick haze of lust and whatever else was coursing through my veins and had my vagina in a chokehold.
I pull back the covers with a frustrated sigh to go make coffee.
Yes, coffee will get me through the day.
Elsa and Micah spent the night at our mother's—another barbecue I missed— and left cupcakes on the counter for me with one of Micah’s drawings.
Now that I can get a good look at it, something tightens in my gut. Four figures in an elevator: Micah and Elsa with ice cream, me with my arms folded—looking unhappy—and a tall man in a suit standing next to me, which Micah labeled: Aunty Estelle’s boyfriend.
Damn it, Elsa.
I grab a cupcake and make myself a steaming cup of coffee for breakfast, then flip through the channels, hoping to catch something more about yesterday’s shooting.
But there’s nothing.
Like it was swept under the rug.
Why do I have a feeling Carlos had something to do with that?
It’s mid-morning when someone knocks on my door. I pull the cardigan tighter around my body and peer through the peephole.
It's a man and woman, both dressed in work suits. I open the door an inch.
“Yes?” I ask.
Their hands disappear inside their jackets, and I immediately tense.
“Miss Signon?” The woman addresses me first. They show me a wallet that turns out to be a badge. “I’m Detective Harris, and this is my partner, Detective Sullivan. Can we talk to you for a minute?”
This is bad news.
I slide the chain lock and open the door all the way.
“How can I help you, detectives?”
They stuff their badges back inside their jackets. “Do you know a Karl Smith?”
“Uh, yes, actually. I do.” This is not what I expected.
Detective Sullivan starts writing in a notepad. “What’s your relationship with him?”
I shake my head. “I don’t have one. Not really. He’s my sister’s ex-boyfriend.”
He nods while writing. “When’s the last time you saw him?”
The lie is on my tongue, but I decide to tell them the truth. “About three or four days ago outside my building.”
“Why did your sister’s ex-boyfriend come to see you?” Detective Harris asks.
“He hurt my sister. She and my nephew came to live with me. We wouldn’t let him in, so he waited for me outside to...talk,” I say.
Both of them look at me like they can smell the bullshit.
“To talk?” Detective Harris asks.
I sigh. “He accosted me, basically. Grabbed my arm pretty hard. He wanted to force me to go back up and let him inside the apartment.”
“How did the situation end?” Detective Harris asks. “Were you able to convince him or...?”
This is a trap. If I mention Ross, then that road leads to Carlos.
Fuck.
“I threatened to scream. What’s this about?”
Silence falls between us for a few seconds.
“Karl Smith’s body was found in a dumpster two days ago. Witnesses say they saw him outside the building with you a few days ago.”
My body suddenly feels cold. “He was murdered?” I choke out.
They nod.
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything.
“Do you know who might have done this?” Detective Sullivan asks.
I shake my head, dazed, knowing I have to lie. “No.”
“Is your sister here?”
Another head shake. “No. She’s at our mother’s. She’ll be back later today.”
Detective Sullivan pulls out a card from his pocket. “Can you have her give us a call when she gets back?”
I grab the card numbly. “Sure.”
“Do you own a gun, Miss Signon?”
“No.” Another lie. “I don’t.”
They nod. “Thank you for your time.”
I close the door with shaky hands. The question in my head is loud, drowning out all other thoughts.
Did Carlos kill Karl?
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