Page 70 of Love Me Darkly
“No deal until you give us something,” Donovan said. “Something good.”
Caleb craned his neck to look at Donovan, who had resumed his place standing behind the chair. “No one was talking to you, boy.”
Donovan moved before Mateo could stop him, sweeping a kick at the legs of the chair and sending both it and Caleb toppling to the floor. The chain tethering Caleb to the table jerked and scraped. The chair hit the tiles with a clang, and Caleb’s head bounced off the floor, leaving behind a bloodstain. Donovan calmly righted the chair and then hauled Caleb up by his arm.
“Hey, you gotta be careful, man,” he replied, deceptively calm.
His eyes were molten pools of titanium, and his mouth had pinched into a firm line. He looked about two seconds away from knocking out all of Caleb’s teeth. “It’s an old chair. Next fall might break something.”
Donovan slapped a hand down on Caleb’s shoulder, holding him in place as he squirmed against his shackles and growled at Mateo like a dog.
“Fuck off,” he spat. “I ain’t saying shit!”
His words were as bold as ever, but as Mateo peered into Caleb’s eyes, he saw the truth. There was fear and uncertainty there. Shaking hands and grinding teeth revealed his anxiety. A sheen of sweat coated his fuzzy upper lip, and he licked at it in a nervous tic. They had him between a rock and a hard place, and he knew it.
“All right,” Mateo said, taking up his file. “That’s your prerogative, of course. Donovan, let’s give Caleb a little time to think over his decision. Maybe he’ll change his mind once he considers how dangerous gen pop will be for him once he’s caged.”
Donovan followed him from the room silently, waiting until the door closed before venting his frustration. A stack of papers went flying under the hand he swiped over a nearby table and a pencil cup hit the wall, sending pens skittering across the floor.
“Easy, kid,” Mateo said, falling into the nearest chair and rubbing his tired eyes. “This guy is in deep. He’s a true believer. It’s going to take some time to break him. A few more hours of isolation and lack of food or water ought to loosen him up a bit. And for the second round, we’ll send in Smith. He’s older, white, and a master interrogator. I once saw him get a cartel enforcer to confess just by staring at him. We did our part to soften him up. Smitty will get him talking.”
Donovan took a deep breath and ran a hand over his hair. “I’m fine. Just … he got under my skin. I thought I was better trained than that.”
“Cut yourself some slack. No amount of training can prepare you for some of the challenges we face. You think you’ve got it bad? Ask Williams about some of her experiences.”
Donovan cringed. “Shit, I didn’t think of that. You think Caleb’s head will explode if we send her in there?”
Mateo chuckled at the mental image. “Could be fun to try. Once we get what we need from him, of course.”
Donovan sank into a chair and jerked at the knot of his tie. He was finally starting to show the strains from the demand of this case, his eyes drawn and his brow heavy. They hadn’t had time to really talk since their confrontation and Donovan’s threat to call Carlisle on him. Things had been strained, but they had eased into a familiar professionalism as they applied themselves to the task at hand.
“Hey, are we good?” Mateo asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.
Donovan understood the question without having to probe further. He shrugged out of his jacket and let it fall over the back of his chair. “Yeah, man, we’re good.”
He didn’t give the impression that he felt the need to elaborate further, so Mateo was content with that. Donovan seemed content to rest in silence for now, so Mateo sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. It had been a little over twenty-four hours since he’d last seen Melody and every single minute had been torture. After dozing for a few minutes on the blanket in the park, he and Melody had cleaned up the remains of their Scotch tasting and got back into the car. He had driven her to an obscure motel that would allow him to pay with cash by the hour, knowing they wouldn’t need it for long. When he had apologized that it wasn’t nicer and explained that he hadn’t wanted to use a card for fear of being traced, Melody had simply smiled at him and insisted that it was perfect.
And it had been perfect. There were four walls, a bed, and a bathroom; the bare minimum of what was possible for them. He wanted better for Melody. He wanted to dazzle her with five-star hotels and lavish dinners. He wanted to lay her on Egyptian cotton sheets instead of a thin motel bedspread, and lick Scotch off her nipples. He wanted to shower her with everything she’d never had.
But his baby girl was easy to please, and happy as long as she was with him. She didn’t need to express that out loud for him to know it intuitively. In all his days of following and watching her from a distance, he’d never seen her smile so much, never seen that enchanting twinkle in her eye.
He had led her into the bathroom and stripped out of the gorgeous dress that had made her look like such a dream. Melody hardly seemed to notice the stares she attracted as she danced and laughed and sipped her peach daiquiris. Her focus had been entirely on him, and that was enough to soothe the irritation that bristled his spine when he caught the men staring, dragging their eyes over her bared arms and legs, her perky little breasts. It had only taken one look into her eyes to quell the desire to go around the room ripping out eyeballs and stomping them in his wake.
Mateo had pulled her into the shower in that little hotel room and held her against him under the hot spray. They had become a tangle of limbs and panting breaths, soapy hands slippery and searching. She was still damp when he carried her to bed, as he’d been too impatient to wait for her to dry off completely. He made slow love to her in the dark, holding her close and whispering the secrets of his soul into her ear. He said everything just short of the one truth he couldn’t bring himself to reveal. The one truth that would give her the power to crush him in her fist. In the back of his mind, he knew she would never do such a thing. He wanted to trust her, to give her everything he had. Mateo knew what this was and prided himself on a level of self-awareness that had taken years of introspection to master. He’d felt this way the first time he’d seen Mari, had been as certain and unshaken as he’d stood before her and named her his future bride. Now, Melody had snared him in a trap he wasn’t certain she had intended to set, and now he was completely entangled.
And still, he held back, realizing that to give her what he suppressed would destroy her. She wouldn’t know what to do with it, for one thing. The intensity of his feelings, sudden as they were, would be overwhelming for someone who had never known the sweet kiss of a lover or the warm embrace of a soulmate. Additionally, there was still something she hid from him; he could sense it. Whatever she kept from him might prove an obstacle too insurmountable to overcome. To tell her the truth of how he felt would be to dangle a priceless gift before her eyes and then snatch it away. As badly as he wanted to present her that gift, he could never be so cruel. Not while he was so uncertain about how things might unfold. So, he would wait. He would wait and he would plan—two things he excelled at. By the time all was said and done, he would figure out a way to save her. He would figure out a way to keep her.
They had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, Melody drifting off first with her head on his chest. He’d drifted off as the first rays of the sun cast their light through the crack beneath the door, nestling closer to Melody and clinging tight to the final hours of their seclusion.
The time to leave had come far too quickly, with them having just enough time for a diner breakfast before hitting the road back to New Orleans. They made the drive in silence, even though Melody was alert the entire time. Curled up on the passenger seat with her legs under her, she had leaned against the center console, her hand resting on his, fingers stroking his knuckles. They traded tiny touches and little caresses, hands twining and holding. There was nothing to say after last night, nothing that couldn’t wait.
Mateo had wanted to walk her to her apartment door, but understood it would be a stupid thing to do in broad daylight. He’d let her off a few blocks from the apartment, waiting a few minutes before circling in front of her building to watch from a distance as she slipped safely inside.
He might not see her again until Friday night—the evening of Korenic’s return. She wouldn’t have another night off until next week, and even then, it would be difficult for him to pull away for even a few hours. With Carlisle working behind the scenes to push through various court orders, things would begin progressing quickly.
His work phone buzzed in the breast pocket of his jacket and he fumbled for it, nearly dropping it as his foggy mind struggled to catch up to his grappling hands. It was his boss.
“Garcia,” he answered.
