Page 25 of Craving Vengeance
During his entire performance, Layla’s seducing eyes never left him. When he finished, he handed her the box of chocolates. She reached forward and snatched the chocolates with one hand and set them on the counter. With her other hand, she latched onto his wrist. “I’ve got something for you,” she glanced at Shannon, “and for your cute little friend, too.”
Layla kept her grip on him and pulled him along. Shannon hesitated but followed.
She led them to the back of the store and sifted through a few garments hanging on a clothing rack. “Ah ha, here they are. These would be perfect for such a nice-looking young couple.”
Spinelli instantly hardened at the vision of Shannon wearing the skimpy garment Layla held high in the air. He could easily see the hot pink lingerie contrasting against Shannon’s milky white skin, and her small, pale, round breasts partially exposed over the top of the low-cut fur-lined bodice. He imagined the smooth feel of the fabric under his fingertips. He pictured himself plunging his hand between the silky material and her soft smooth skin. His groin tightened with need.
Layla’s other hand held a hanger with a pair of silky red boxer shorts. Large, hot-pink, heart-shaped buttons held the fly shut. Hearts, the same color, and size lined the waistband. He wouldn’t be caught dead wearing those. He reconsidered. Perhaps if Shannon agreed to her garment, he’d agree to his. The vision of her wearing the lingerie with a pair of thigh-high fishnet stockings and spiked heels would likely make him agree to anything, especially if she were to add a set of wrist cuffs and a rose tipped whip like the ones he saw on the shelf near the checkout counter.
Layla glanced about the store. “Hmm,” she flipped her long poufy hair over her shoulder and then fixed her eyes on Shannon. “You know, dear, I’ve got the perfect accessories over here to go with these,” she said as she motioned for them to follow her.
Shannon hesitated and stepped back. Her normally pale cheeks were as red as the boxer shorts Layla held in her hand.
“Oh, sweetie, you need to loosen up a bit and have some fun,” Layla said as she shifted her gaze to Spinelli and winked, “and I bet this handsome fella here would be more than willing to help you along with that.” She undressed him with her eyes again, “If I were thirty years younger, I would be giving him an open invitation before someone else did.”
Spinelli took the garments from Layla’s hands. “We’ll take these.
What else is it you want to show us?”
He didn’t need to look at Shannon to know her disapproving gaze was on him. He welcomed her discomfort, just as she welcomed his during the whole singing cupid thing.
He followed Layla to the display he’d seen earlier, the one that held the wrist cuffs and whips. It was as if Layla could read his mind. She snatched them off the shelf and set them on the checkout counter.
Spinelli reached into the small makeshift pocket sewn into the inside of his toga costume. It was barely large enough to hold his badge, ID, two bills, and a credit card, but he was thankful it was there so he didn’t have to wear his badge around his neck during this cupid escapade.
His groin had nearly made him forget he was angry with Shannon and that they still needed to resolve the Dr. Joshua issue. But he was too far into the purchase to turn back now, so he slapped his credit card on the counter. He knew Shannon was glaring at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to return her gaze. She sighed heavily.
Madam Layla bagged the items and handed the bag to Spinelli. She flashed him a wink. “You kids have a nice Valentine’s night.”
“You, too.”
Spinelli spun on his heel and headed out the door. Shannon huffed behind him. If she wasn’t pissed enough before, she was surely pissed enough now.
By the time he’d tossed the lingerie bag into the back seat, Shannon had already slid into the passenger seat. Spinelli climbed into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine. The smoke billowing from her ears made it difficult for him to see out the windshield.
Spinelli signaled and pulled into traffic. He drove fast. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. He pressed the accelerator closer to the floorboard shooting over State Street; the street he should have turned on in order to head back to the precinct.
Shannon fixed her confused gaze on him. “Where are we going?
We’re done with the deliveries. Isn’t your truck at the precinct?”
“Yeah, it is. But I have one quick stop to make yet.”
“Where?”
Spinelli’s cheeks heated. He’d wanted to make this particular stop earlier in the evening when he was by himself, but time just didn’t allow for it.
* * * *
The car shot over JuneauStreet before Shannon realized where they might be heading. Was he really going to the foster home of the Washington kids?
The Washington home was the first home she and Spinelli had visited when he’d been assigned to help in the Social Services Department. At that time, the Washington kids lived with their parents in a dilapidated apartment building on Cherry Street, a gang infested area. Not only was their dad a drug dealer, he was also physically abusive to their mom. And though he beat her, she’d refused to leave him because she needed to keep close ties with her cocaine dealer. As a result, Shannon and Spinelli removed the kids from the home on that particular day and brought them to their new foster home where they’ve lived ever since.
Shannon recalled Spinelli’s evident apprehension during the entire process. Certainly, nobody is happy or comfortable when removing children from the home of their parents, but Spinelli’s anguish during the whole ordeal was like none she’d ever seen before on such a call. She’d later found out that Cherry Street was the very same street where he grew up; in an environment not so different from the Washington kids.
A few days after the kids were placed in foster care, the foster mom had brought them to the mall to visit Santa. Spinelli just so happened to be playing Santa that day because he was working his undercover assignment. Somewhere during this chain of events, Spinelli and the eldest of the Washington kids, Lesha, age seven, had developed some sort of bond.
Spinelli pulled up to the curb of the foster home and cut the engine.
