When He's Dirty, стр. 7
My gaze rakes over the singer’s naked upper torso, and his ink is brightly colored, which means he is not my Rafael. The singer Rafael does have really amazing ripped abs and I wonder if my Rafael has those abs. I’m fairly certain the answer is yes. I’m one hundred percent certain that I’d like to find out. My phone rings and I glance at the number to find Grace, a co-worker, fellow assistant DA, and friend, who wants me at a party tonight. I’d ignore the call, except she’s a good friend, the kind I never had back at the firm and it’s her birthday. “Hey,” I say, answering the call.
“How’s it going?”
“It’s—going,” I say. “Happy birthday. Again.”
She laughs. “I still can’t believe you called me at midnight.”
“And woke you up,” I say. “I didn’t think you’d be asleep on a Friday night.”
“Alas, I’m becoming boring. I can’t believe Josh’s party is tonight of all nights. You’re going, right?”
Josh is not only a detective who works for the DA like we do, albeit outside any direct contact with me, he’s the detective Grace has long had a crush on but avoided because of the conflict of interest. And since he’s now taking a job with a private security company to do the same work for more money, that problem has disappeared. I wonder briefly if he’s going to work for the same company Rafael works for, but that’s silly and an impossible coincidence.
Shoving aside my thoughts of a hot man I barely know, I go to work explaining myself to Grace. “I want to,” I say, aware that she’s shy outside of the courtroom and wants me with her.
“But?” she adds. “Why is there always a but with you?”
“I’m just a little worried about this case overflowing into my personal life.”
“This isn’t your personal life,” she says. “It’s work. We’ll still be contracting Josh’s services and he’s someone we can trust. And the bar’s going to be packed with cops and it’s only a few blocks from work, which means your house. In other words, I can come to your door and get you.”
“All right, all right” I concede. “I’ll go for you.”
“And you,” she corrects. “You need a safe place to relax a little. It’s September first. You have some time. The trial doesn't start for a month. I still can’t believe this trial is going to run so close to the holidays.”
“Had two of my witnesses not been murdered, we’d be starting sooner,” I remind her. “And thankfully the judge understands that if we wait until the new year, everyone who ever touched this case might be dead.”
“Yep. I was right. You need a drink.”
“Yes,” I agree. “I believe I do.”
We chat a minute more and disconnect, and when I’m done, I click off Rafael’s photo. I don’t have the luxury of thinking about some hot man I’ll likely never see again. I pull up a photo of Waters, the King Devil. He’s the only man who will have my attention until at least Thanksgiving.
***
Okay, there is one more man, I decide to focus on not much later. I spend the entire working day fixated on Jose Deleon, the Devils’ second in command. He’s missing and likely the person killing the witnesses, but we have no proof. He’d probably be the person to kill me if I became a target. That thought is enough to convince me I need that night out surrounded by cops. That sends me to my closet to fret over what you wear to a sort of work event.
I settle on a black skirt with a flare, a lacy, sleeveless black top, and black booties with a heel. I never feel like a girl without my heels.
I slide my favorite round black Gucci purse over my chest to hang at my hip. It was an extravagant gift my mother called a birthday gift, but I knew it was delivered out of guilt for her behavior after I left the firm. She was not only angry, she refused to talk to me for a full month which was more than a little painful. My mother still doesn’t understand that gifts don’t equal support, nor do they matter to me as they do to her, but I know she meant well. And I do adore the purse. It fits a petite firearm, a lipstick, and powder, as well as my wallet perfectly. A petite handgun is a girl’s best friend, even above lipstick.
My cellphone rings and I slide it from the pocket of my skirt to find Grace calling. “My Uber is about two minutes from your house. I’m picking you up.”
I smile to myself and say, “What if I told you I was naked in the bathtub?”
“I’d tell you to grab a towel and hurry up.” She disconnects.
I laugh and head downstairs, happy for the ride. I might only be a few blocks from the Mexican cantina where the party is being held, but right now, walking a few blocks alone at night doesn’t feel smart. Not that I’ve been threatened, I remind myself. I’m simply paranoid, but then how can I not be right about now?
Once I’m at my door, I wait there until my phone rings again with Grace’s number. I answer and she says, “I’m here. Do I need to come pick your towel color?”
I grin and exit my front door to find the car at the curb. Locking up and arming my security system, I hurry toward the vehicle and climb inside.
“You look stunning, my dear,” Grace says.
Grace is thirty, blonde with green eyes, gorgeous, and presently wearing a little black dress that makes me feel better about my little black skirt.
“So do you,” I say, eyeing her cleavage. “I’m quite sure you’ll have Josh’s full attention in that little number.”
She waves me off. “I don’t even care. I have