Lust Read online

  She widened her smile. “I assumed since you were eye-fucking me across the room, you wanted a private moment. So where do you want to do this? The bathroom, or the back alley?”

  Another gobsmacked blink.

  For Christ’s sake. She took his drink from his fingers, handed it to his friend, and then curled her fingers around the back of his neck. Nice. Warm. Sweat-free. She brought his mouth down to hers and licked along his bottom lip until he opened and then she gave him the French kiss of his life. When she was sure all the blood from his brain had turned south, she licked his earlobe and whispered huskily, “Alley or bathroom.”

  “Alley,” he croaked.

  Perfect. The path to the back door would take her right by her nosey family and she could collect her jacket and scarf. It was cold outside. She licked her lips, shot him a grin full of sensual promises, and then hooked his finger into her back pocket before walking away.

  Since the weight of his finger stayed there, she knew he’d taken the hint.

  She passed her brothers, gave them a mock salute, collected her items, and then stage whispered to the girls, “Don’t wait up.”

  The last thing Liza heard before leaving through the back exit was Misha’s loud congratulatory whoop.

  The alley was cold, dank, and disgusting. The small buzz Liza received from expensive male aftershave dulled when it mingled with the smell of garbage and urine, but she needed to do this. It wasn’t just for show. She needed to prove she wasn’t pitiful. That she could take a man and screw his brains out whenever, and wherever she wanted. That she wasn’t faulty. That she had options.

  She checked the alley exits. Down one side was nothing but overflowing dumpsters and a dead-end. Down the other, a busy city street. The sun hid behind an overcast sky and dimmed with the looming night. Anyone walking down their little corner of hell would see them. Liza focused on the thrill skipping up her spine, not the queasiness in her gut.

  No problems.

  She zeroed in on a space between two dumpsters. Perfect.

  “There.” She pointed.

  “But it’s broad daylight,” he sputtered.

  Stupid man. He was the one who suggested coming out here instead of the bathroom.

  “That a problem?”

  His eyes flared. “Nope. I just thought…”

  She unearthed her CCPD badge and clipped it to the gaping middle of her blouse so her bra showed. “If anyone asks, I got it covered.”

  And just like that, his lust flared. Holster sniffer.

  Liza swallowed down the tequila rising in her gullet. Her head swirled, and her eyes fluttered with her attempt to keep control. Blue Eyes took her hips.

  “God, that’s so hot.” He licked his lips. “Fuck, you’re so hot. You going to arrest me, baby?”

  “This works better the less you talk.” She urged him to their spot and dumped her jacket and scarf. She rested against the grimy brick wall, and then yanked at his trousers, trying to work his fly with trembling, stiff fingers. “We doing this?”

  He nodded. “Fuck, yeah. I mean. Yeah. We’re doing.”

  She unzipped him, quirked a brow at his package, and then met his gaze. “It will do.”

  He blinked for a moment. Probably used to ladies drooling over it. Or himself in the mirror.

  Taking a deep breath of stale air into her lungs, Liza swallowed more nausea and readied herself. The lust was about to get worse.

  She dipped her hand into his pants, wrapped her fingers around his arousal, and started jerking him off. His groans of pleasure echoed against the brick wall. He dropped his face to the valley between her breasts, nuzzled around the badge as he licked and kissed the flesh. A desperate mumble of disbelief punctuated his every move.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said into her chest. “I can’t believe I’m touching your sweet tits.” Kissing. More licking. More grinding. “Can’t believe I’m about to fuck a cop.”

  “Detective.”

  “Right. Detective.”

  He pawed her bottom and murmured more exaltations.

  Liza was going to puke just from his words. She grabbed his hair, yanked his head up so he faced her.

  “Shut up,” she demanded.

  He nodded. “Whatever you say.”

  “You’re still talking.”

  Alright. I can do this.

  He pushed down the cup of her lace bra and then that mouth fell blessedly silent because it busied itself on her breast. It should have felt good. But his lust flared brighter, dug deeper. Her grip on him tightened. He ground into her and that sick sensation curdled in her gut.

  She tasted tequila, shoved him away, and vomited on the pavement before she realized what had happened.

  “What the fuck?” the man gasped. “Are you... are you okay?”

  This isn’t going to work.

  “Go,” Liza said, then retched again.

  “Should I call someone?”

  Wrong thing to say.

  She shot him daggers. He zipped his fly and backed away. He mumbled insanities and then must have left because, when Liza hurled another mouthful of tequila, the only sound was misery pounding in her ears.

  Tears burned her eyes.

  Fuck this.

  Fuck all of this.

  Her throat tightened. Her chest wracked, and the undeniable urge to sob almost got out, but she pushed it down. Deep. Not today. Not ever, would she feel sorry for herself. She squeezed her eyes shut and reminded herself of all the good things she had in her life. Sure, she’d developed a disposition to puke every time she scored, but so what? She had an honest job where she could make a difference in the real world and not fuck about in the shadows like her siblings. She had a roof over her head. She had money. She had good looks. Health. Strength. And a family who supported her, as misguided as they were sometimes, it all came from a good place.

  Daisy had none of that.

  Daisy was the eldest of the Lazarus siblings, but not a Lazarus. She’d been separated from them during the escape from the Syndicate laboratory that created them thirty or so years ago. As the eldest, Daisy, or Despair as she was called back then, led the way in keeping morale positive. Liza had only been four or five yet she remembered with crystal clarity how Daisy would insist each sibling cuddled her first thing in the morning. She would even chase them about the small living quarters if they denied her.

  “Lu-ust,” Despair’s sweet, melodious voice sang. “Come here and give me my morning cuddle!”

  “You have to catch me first, ‘Spair.” Liza’s four-year-old legs jumped onto a table, slipped, and toppled to the side. She screamed.

  Strong childish arms caught her. “Don’t worry, Lust. I’ll always catch you when you fall.”

  Liza doubled over, grimacing. A sharp stab of pain pierced her gut. So much agony. So strong. As if... Her internal alarm sounded. It wasn’t the sense of lust from inside the bar. This was different. Deadly.

  When most people heard the word lust, they associated it with sex. But the worst kind, the most deadly kind, was the kind of lust that made you crave something so bad you would do anything to claim it.

  That was the kind she sensed now.

  The distinct sound of a woman’s raised, tight voice sent Liza stretching beyond the shadow of the dumpster to peek. A tall man wearing an army jacket followed a skinny blond teenager into the alley. He looked about twenty or so, was decent looking enough to make him appear less threatening. The scar on his face only garnered sympathy. The words coming out of his mouth were smooth and sweet, but Liza recognized the girl’s armor, the way she carried herself, her false bravado. She was a runaway.

  That deadly sense of lust pinged in her gut, growing in intensity, and Liza knew she had to get closer to hear more. She creeped around the dumpster’s wall and darted to the next, accidentally tipping over an empty bottle before sheltering herself behind the metal bin. With a wince, she hid herself and held her breath, hoping that she wasn’t found.
/>   The conversation continued, and this time, she could hear the words.

  “Come on,” the guy crooned. “You don’t look old enough to be out on your own in this neighborhood. It’s dangerous. You want me to call someone for you?”

  She lifted her stubborn chin. “I’m older than you think.”

  “Like what, twelve?” he scoffed.

  “I’m sixteen. Had my birthday last week.”

  “Oh yeah? I bet a pretty girl like you has lots of friends to throw you a party. Was it fun?”

  Her expression dropped. “I didn’t have a party.”

  His face turned all compassionate. “Ah, shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  She looked away, but he ducked to stay in her view.

  “How about I take you somewhere warm and give you a party? I got sweets, cake, soda. Whatever you want.”

  Her eyes lifted, hesitant. “Cake? I ain’t never had no birthday cake.”

  Lust flared so hard it blurred Liza’s vision. Every instinct said this fucktard was a spotter for trafficking or a pimp. If that girl went with him, she’d never be free again.

  Blind rage trembled through Liza. And then she blacked out.

  2

  Liza surfaced from her blackout, surrounded by the devastation of a hurricane. Pain flooded her hands. A woman screamed. The man in the army jacket writhed on the alley floor, clutching his groin. Blood was everywhere. She couldn’t tell if it was from there, or the other swollen parts on his face.

  The teenage girl cowered in fear, head hiding beneath her arms and hands.

  Something restrained Liza’s wrist. Frowning, she glanced down. A big male hand held her. She followed the hand, to the arm, to the face. Black hair and scowling blue eyes.

  “Wyatt?” She yanked her hand back. “What the fuck?”

  “I sensed wrath,” he explained quietly, and then gave a pointed look at the man on the floor. “Good thing I came straight out, Detective.”

  Liza’s gaze ping-ponged to the man on the floor and back to Wyatt. He was saying... she did that?

  Holy fuck, she’d blacked out. Her first time.

  Wyatt leaned close to whisper, “You want to take it that far, perhaps it’s time to finally join us dressed in your battle gear at night.”

  He flicked the CCPD badge still hanging from her gaping blouse.

  Shit.

  Fuck.

  She’d blown it.

  The army jacket man cursed and scrambled to his feet. He bared his bloody teeth at Liza. “You’re going to pay for that, bitch.”

  “Yeah, tell it to someone who cares!” she shot back, despite the stutter in her pulse.

  Wyatt’s cell phone rang and he answered. “I’m coming back.” His eyes flicked to Liza. “Nope. Nothing to worry about.”

  Then he cut the call and gave Liza one last glare. “You need to decide what world you’re living in, Liza. You can’t straddle both.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded, and watched him leave. He was right. It was getting harder to pretend she was normal. This may have been her first blackout, but it wouldn’t be her last. It was harder for her to stay in balance these days. She wasn’t sure a quick trip to the cathedral was going to cut it, and she was out of alternative ways to keep her internal sin equilibrium in balance.

  She glanced at the teenager, now quietly sobbing. But at least she wasn’t screaming anymore. Liza extended her hand.

  “I’m so sorry about that. He was a spotter for a sex-trafficker. If you had gone with him, you’d have been hooked on drugs, made to work as a prostitute, and would never see the light of day again.” She sighed. God, she sounded like an awful callous bitch. “There was no way you could know that, though. I’ve been putting these assholes away for years. That’s the only way I can tell. Don’t… don’t beat yourself up about it.”

  The girl’s bottom lip trembled.

  She needed to say something to take her mind off it, so added, “It’s your birthday, right?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Happy birthday. It can only get better from here. What’s your name?”

  “Mirabelle,” she mumbled.

  “Nice to meet you, Mirabelle. I’m Detective Liza Lazarus. Come on. I won’t hurt you. My job is to protect you. Let’s take you somewhere you’ll be safe. I know a good shelter that gives coupons and cake to anyone who’s having a birthday.”

  Liza sank into her office chair, mentally exhausted. It wasn’t the cold outside, or the journey she’d taken across town to drop Mirabelle at a domestic violence shelter, or her bloody knuckles. It was the fact the station was virtually empty, and she’d come back to it after taking the afternoon off.

  She glanced around the bullpen where the detectives sat. Her “office” consisted of a small desk laden with case files. No walls separated her from her coworkers. Only one detective remained.

  Briggs was a forty-something ex-patrol cop built like a linebacker. These days the muscle had turned to pudge, but he still cut an imposing figure. The rest of the dayshift had vanished early. That was the sad state of the detectives at the CCPD. No one cared to do the actual work, and the captain also skipped out early, so he failed to care to reprimand them. Only, while they’d left because they had a social life, Liza had been pretending. What was the excuse for the rest of them?

  When Briggs stood, loosened his tie, and closed the drawers on his desk, Liza glanced at the clock.

  Five p.m.

  She wanted to punch something.

  Briggs gathered his coat and hat from the rack before striding toward the door. When he passed Liza’s desk, she jumped up and blocked him.

  “Hey, Briggs,” she greeted.

  “Liza.” His heavy brows drew together. “You good?”

  “Yeah, I’m good, except... where is everyone?”

  Briggs’s eyes dropped, and he suddenly became interested in the pattern on the tiled floor. “Don’t know. Knocked off early, like you, I suppose. I gotta go.”

  He tried to shove past, but Liza never cowered around big guys. She’d spent her life growing up around them. She sidestepped and blocked him again.

  “You’re keeping something from me,” she said.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Come on, Briggs. It’s me. I’ll figure it out, eventually.”

  He stared at her.

  She could sense he was about to make up an excuse, so spoke first. “This many detectives leaving early isn’t right. Must either be one helluva homicide, or a special occasion.”

  His body language betrayed him. Sweat on the upper lip. Pupils contracting when she’d said the latter. “So it’s a special occasion.” She frowned as the truth dawned on her. “And if you’re all going, and I know nothing about it, then I wasn’t invited. What the fuck?”

  He winced. “Don’t take it personally, Liza.”

  She grabbed his tie and yanked. “What the actual fuck, Briggs?”

  “Joe Luciano is back in town.”

  Liza’s hand went lax. The tie slipped through her fingers. “What?”

  Briggs sighed. “He asked us all to keep it quiet. He’s back in his old place and has invited us dudes for a poker night. I’m sure he’ll catch up with you soon. Look, I’m late. I gotta go. Poker night starts in an hour and like most bastards who were invited, I still need to get across town to see the wife before heading out.”

  She stepped aside and muttered, “Yeah, sure.”

  It took a full two minutes after Briggs had left before she regained her senses.

  Joey Luciano, her friend since middle school, had flat out asked that she not be told about his return to Cardinal City. And if he’d moved back into his old place, then it might be for good. Had he transferred out of Violent Crimes? Hell, had he left the FBI?

  Aw, fuck no.

  Screw Joey. He couldn’t just leave Cardinal City without a word, then come back and ignore her. They had a history. And if she’d done somet
hing wrong, she needed to know about it. Enough bad shit had happened today, she didn’t need more.

  It was time she had a quiet word to Joey, and she knew the exact thing to bring with her. Crossing to her desk, she opened the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet and fished around until her fingers landed on a velvety rough surface. Bingo.

  She pulled out an old baseball covered in childish signatures, all either Liza’s or Joey’s. She rotated the ball in her hand, smiling. Over the years, the signatures had become less legible with their age. The ink bled into the leather. All the signatures had a line through them, except the latest: L.Lazarus, clear and unimpeded.

  The first wobbly signature was made when she was twelve. She still remembered seeing the white ball rolling across the green grass and then hitting her sandal covered toes as she sat on the batters’ bench. The sun had been warm, and the rough wood had given her splinters where her shorts failed to protect. She’d been relegated to the “cheer squad” by her jerk-face brothers. They’d kept saying it would be her turn soon, but failed to call her up to bat. That’s when a young Joey Luciano had waved at her from across the field.

  “Hey!” he’d said. “Over here.”

  Liza picked up the ball and turned it in her hands, testing the weight. She looked at it with such longing. She didn’t want to be sitting on the bench. She wanted to be out there, playing the game with her brothers. All of them were playing, even baby Evan who was only eight. If Sloan hadn’t stayed home with Mama to cook pizza, Liza would have another girl on her side to stand up to her brothers.

  Especially that jerk-face Parker. He was such a know-it-all.

  Liza stood and threw the ball back to the tall, lanky boy. It sailed straight through the air and landed in his glove with a resounding smack. He’d dropped the ball almost immediately, removed his hand from the glove, and shook it out like it hurt. When his eyes had met Liza’s, they’d widened.

  She grinned. She liked surprising boys.