“So, what’s the problem?” Elijah knew there was more. There was always more when dealing with crazy situations like this one.
“They tried to take out the prosecutor assigned to the case,” Captain Searlington answered. “They put a bomb under his car. The only reason he survived was that he stopped for gas. Getting out of the car to go pay the attendant saved his life.”
“Shit,” he replied. “A bomb? They weren’t playing, huh?”
The captain shook her head as she stood up from her desk and walked around to the front.
“This ADA they tried to get at wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill prosecutor. He’s the executive assistant district attorney. His father is the chief judge in the New York Court of Appeals.”
“Captain, this sounds like it’s gonna be fucked on all sides. I didn’t sign on for this.”
She crossed her arms over her chest again, letting him know she was pulling rank on him in just that simple move.
“Doesn’t matter,” she answered. “It’s your detail, or it’s your career. If you want that cushy job, you’re gonna have to protect this executive ADA.”
She leaned over the desk and pushed a button on her phone. “Send him in,” she said before returning her attention to Elijah. “I know it’s fucked-up, Stephenson. But it’s the job.”
It was a job that seemed to have him by the balls whether or not he wanted to admit it. He picked the file up off the desk and flipped through its pages. If he would put his neck on the line for some legal VIP, the least he could do was know what he was up against.
“It’s about time. You’ve kept me in the bowels of this building, locked up like I’m a criminal. In case you’ve forgotten, it was my car someone blew up last night.”
Elijah’s ears tingled at the sound of that voice. There was something about its tone that his mind latched on to. Confident, and not just the normal “I’ve got a big set of balls” bluster. No, there was the eerie sound of expectation coloring the tone of his words. As if he knew he was important enough to listen to.
Elijah’s body tensed as he remembered the last time he’d heard that voice. Goose bumps raised the hairs on his arms, making his skin prickle with either anticipation, anxiety, or anger. The truth was his heart was beating so fast as he processed the familiar voice, he couldn’t say exactly which was the case.
“It can’t be. No, it cannot be,” he whispered to himself as that voice continued to carry on behind Elijah.
“Mr. Warren, I’ve just finished briefing my lieutenant on your case. He’s a decorated officer, and he will keep you safe until we lock the crazies away,” Searlington said.
Elijah rolled his eyes and shook his head as he heard the name Warren cross Captain Searlington’s lips. Tapping his foot on the floor as he tried to ignore the tightness building in his chest, Elijah refused to believe this could happen to him.
He’d left his house ready to begin a new chapter in his life, a safer, more relaxed phase. Instead of giving him the pencil-pushing gig brass had promised, they slapped him straight in the middle of hell.
“So where is this great detective? I can’t sit around in your precinct all day, Captain Searlington. I’ve got a trial to prepare for.”
Elijah replaced the file on his captain’s desk and stood up. He turned and found the owner of the pushy voice. Even before he’d laid eyes on him, Elijah’s mind had conjured up the five-year-old image in his head. Jet-black hair, blue eyes, and lips soft as butter. A brief flash of Elijah running his tongue across that mouth, tasting every inch, flitted across his mind.
The memory was appealing at first. Then, the uncomfortable aftermath popped into Elijah’s head and pushed the memory to the back of his mind where it belonged.
“I’m right here, Camden,” Elijah said. “Or has it been that long you no longer recognize me?”
Chapter Three
CAMDENturned around at the call of his name. His gaze followed the familiar sound until he was staring into eyes he hadn’t seen for five years.
Still tall, with long locs still hanging just below his shoulders, and a trimmed goatee. Skin still the same color as smooth, tanned oak. Camden’s eyes continued to travel down a broad chest and shoulders that made his fingers itch to caress them. Arms still wide with carved muscle, and a lean waist that tapered down into a thin vee made Camden swallow to push the dry knot blocking his airway free.
He forced his eyes closed as his gaze fell on the metal belt buckle sitting at the bottom of this walking memory’s waist. If he continued his perusal, if he kept remembering the fire that burned through him with every touch and taste of his tormentor’s body parts, this encounter was liable to turn into something very different from a police matter.
“Elijah?”
Camden shook his head, uncertain why he’d said the man’s name as if it were a question. This was Elijah Stephenson. Hard, beautiful, and so sexy he made Camden’s mouth water.
“You remember my name? I’m impressed,” Elijah added.
Remember?Camden laughed at that. Who in the hell could forget a real-life walking sex dream? If big, muscular men with an imposing presence were your cup of tea, Elijah Stephenson was a person you wouldn’t soon forget.
Camden was no slouch. His bulk remained tight with a personalized fitness plan that kept his muscle shirts filled and his jeans fitted. But Elijah didn’t need a gym plan or a personal trainer. His physique and power came from things like running down criminals on the street and lifting cinder blocks or some such real-world thing Camden would never engage in. He didn’t care to get his own hands soiled, but a man who liked to play in the grit of life was always Camden’s weakness.
