OnlyatTheCavern Read online

  Son of a bitch. Trevor Konkle was out on the streets.

  The last time Marco had seen the petty crook was during his arraignment for his part in the kidnapping of Fiona Corrione the year before. At the time, she was the girlfriend of Lucian’s cousin who had then been the bearer of the Chameleon mask. The kidnapping had been arranged by Smithwick to use as leverage against the superhero who was interfering in his drug-dealing business. Since she had been taken into the city, Marco and his team had been called in to facilitate her rescue. The mission culminated in an eye-opening turn of events that had him witness the power of the Chameleon and his first look at the crime lord, who until then had been hidden behind the logos of dummy corporations and hired thugs.

  Smithwick might have slipped through his fingers that night, but the war was long from over. And now one of his associates was strolling through town, acting as if he were king of the world.

  “Hey,” said Coulter as he followed Marco’s line of sight. “Isn’t that Trevor Konkle? I thought he was serving a nickel for the Corrione kidnapping.”

  “He was.” Marco pulled out the laptop located underneath the dash and logged into the inmate database. “Look at that. Time off for good behavior. He was released last Wednesday.”

  “How thoughtful of parole to let us know.”

  Marco grunted in agreement. “Wait here. I’m going to congratulate our friend and see what he’s up to.”

  “I don’t know, Cap. Konkle wasn’t the brightest bulb on the chandelier, and he’s looking way too cocky for a man who was involved in that clusterfuck last year. Most of Smithwick’s men who were involved that night are either dead or have gone missing.”

  “All the more reason to have a chat. He must have been given some encouragement to show his face.”

  “Or he really is as stupid as we thought he was.”

  Marco wouldn’t say that. The man had kept his trap shut during the entire trial, and Smithwick valued loyalty.

  “I know that you know that if you confront him, he’s going to go crazy on you.”

  “I’m not going to confront him. I’m just going to say hello.” Marco stuck his gum in a stray piece of paper and dropped it in the cup holder, then flashed his lieutenant a big smile. “And ask what his plans are for the future.”

  “Captain.”

  Despite Coulter’s protests, Marco jumped out of the car and maintained a healthy distance as he followed Konkle down the street. The parolee nodded to those he passed, handing out what looked like a business card to anyone who would take it. The action reminded Marco of the men who stood on the sidewalk in Vegas and handed out calling cards for strippers.

  As they approached the corner, Konkle turned to glance over his shoulder before he stepped off the curb. He caught Marco’s gaze and his eyes widened in shock, then he took off as if he were trying out for the Olympic sprinting team.

  “Here we go,” Marco grumbled, then gave chase without a second thought.

  Down the street and through the back alleys they ran, and damn, the boy could fly, keeping at least a block or two between them. Marco was in no way a fitness slouch, but this definitely was not his normal workout on the treadmill.

  Konkle took a right between two phó restaurants and ran out into the middle of the street. The wail of screeching tires made him jump back as a SUV stopped scant inches from taking him out at the knees. Coulter jumped out from the driver’s side, and Konkle turned, ducking into the alley next to the X-rated movie theater.

  Marco kept right on his heels, following him into the shadowed enclave only to draw up short as he found the dead-end road empty. He tried to slow his breathing to be able to hear for any telltale sounds and pressed his palm against the fire raging behind his sternum.

  There. A squeak from overhead. Marco looked up and spotted Konkle’s red Doc Martens disappearing over the roof line at the top of the fire escape.

  Marco immediately went after him and climbed up the metal ladder. He paused before his head cleared the top rung at the top of the third story. Ever so slowly, he peeked over the one-foot-tall retaining wall. After several tense seconds, he completed the ascent.

  The roof was blocked off to the left and before him by neighboring buildings. Their fire escapes were empty and all of the windows closed up tight. Unless the kid had sprouted wings and knew how to fly, he had to be close by.

  Ten-foot-tall neon letters ran across the length of the roof like Las Vegas showgirls. Marco laid his hand on his gun and crept closer to the letters. From the corner of his eye he saw a shadow come at him and jumped back as an icy burn burst across his chest. A quick glance down confirmed a torn shirt. The fabric fluttered with his movements.

  Konkle jumped from his position behind the closest letter and swung his arm. The knife in his hand glinted in the light like a pink wand as he feinted and slashed through the air like a deranged wizard.

  “Fuck,” Marco spat as a backhanded swish caught him in the forearm. “Knock it off. I just want to talk to you.”

  “Fuck off,” Konkle screeched and swung again.

  This time Marco blocked the attack, latching on to Konkle’s wrist as he turned his body into the slighter man’s torso. Konkle responded by going batshit crazy, flailing and jerking his limbs in a thousand directions. The only defensive move the academy taught to fend off this style of fighting was to get low and avoid being stabbed in a critical location.

  Marco hooked his ankle around Konkle’s leg and kicked, knocking them both to the asphalt. Konkle landed first with a loud grunt. The knife skittered to the side with a ting before he twisted, rolling them over and over across the sticky blackness. The short lip of the roof scraped up Marco’s back as he went airborne over the side as Konkle jammed his shoulder into the corner where the lip met the roof, stopping their momentum. Only his grip on Konkle’s sleeves kept him from tumbling the three stories to the street below.

  The tips of his shoes scraped against the brick as he tried to scramble up the side while staring into Konkle’s wild eyes. The man’s beer-scented breath washed over his face in hot, misty puffs that made his eyes water. Above the sound of their ragged breathing he heard the sickening sound of seams popping.

  “No, no, no, no,” Marco groaned as the shirt gave way.

  His gaze zoomed in on the moon, hanging high in the sky like a giant light bulb that grew smaller and smaller as he fell. He threw out his arms, clutching at nothing but air until his hand hit the ladder to the fire escape. His fingers curled around a bar. A grunt burst past his lips as his shoulder burned with the sudden weight of his entire body coming to a quick stop and his legs flailed in the air.

  To his horror, gravity bitch-slapped his body mass, causing his grip to slip as if his hand was slathered in butter. Boom! Yes, he screamed like a little girl as he fell the last story and landed on the roof of Coulter’s SUV. The pain that radiated up his legs only made him shout three soul-wrenching curses as opposed to a million. His knees buckled and he tumbled down the windshield, across the hood then down to the wet pavement with a solid thwack to the head for good measure.

  Flashing lights sparked in his vision, making it appear as if the stars were winking at him in appreciation for putting on a dazzling show.

  “Captain.” Coulter’s muffled shout sounded as if his head were stuffed inside a pillow. “Captain, speak to me.”

  “Fuuuuck,” he might have said. At least, that’s the shape he felt his lips make.

  “Stay still, Cap. Don’t move anything.”

  Sure. No problem. At the moment he didn’t think he could even make his eyelids blink.

  Since memories from his past weren’t flashing before his eyes, he figured he wasn’t dying. At least not yet. From the neck down to his feet, he felt as if he were submerged in a vat of stick pins, and his vision blurred in and out like a camera lens trying to focus.

  Shit. Was he paralyzed? Was he going to spend the rest of his life as a lump of flesh in a bed? Was Smithwick going to walk as
he lost his ability to do so?

  Fuck that. Even if he had to crawl across the ground with only his teeth for leverage, he was going to take that rat bastard down, and that shithead Trevor.

  Over the pounding in his head, he heard the wail of sirens, and the flashing lights turned from yellow to red.

  “Jesus, Coulter,” he slurred. “You called in the goddamn hose draggers? Do me a favor, run the car over me. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

  “You fell off a roof,” he shouted. “Of course I called them. Stop moving. Put your arms down. You might make things worse.”

  His limbs functioned? Hey. Great.

  A dark shadow fell across him. “Lieutenant, what’da we have?”

  “Nothing,” Marco growled. “I’m good.”

  “That’s why there’s so much blood, right, Cap?”

  Blood? Ah fuck.

  “Coulter,” he gasped as his vision dimmed. He battled against the need to close his eyes. Death was not going to take him without a fight. He had too much unfinished business. Too many people to protect. Which reminded him… “Coulter.”

  “Yeah, Cap?”

  “If I—if something happens. My house. Bedroom closet. Black box. Blow it up before my sister finds it.”

  “Anything good in there?”

  “Does the trick.”

  And with his thoughts lingering on his pitiful porn collection, the darkness sucked him under.

  Chapter Two

  Marco lifted his eyelids, which felt as if they were stuck together with glue, and instantly regretted the action. Damn it. It wasn’t like him to leave the blinds open to the morning sun.

  Wait a minute. Those weren’t his blinds. And this wasn’t his bedroom.

  “Sorry, Cap. I’ll get the light.” A blurry blob that resembled Coulter crossed to the window and lowered the blinds.

  “Where am I?” he croaked.

  “The hospital. Don’t you remember last night?”

  Last night… “Fucking Konkle.”

  “You do remember,” Coulter exclaimed in delight.

  Yeah, he did. Well, most of it anyway. The biggest standout was the inability to feel his limbs.

  Well, he was definitely feeling something now, if one counted the sensation of having their entire body feel as if they’d been starched and pressed to death. Man, an eighteen-year-old on Viagra never felt this stiff. However, if he was able to feel discomfort, that must mean he wasn’t severely jacked-up. Right? Dear Lord, let that be right.

  Fear threatened to choke him as he drew in a breath and focused on his hands tucked under the thin blanket. He concentrated on wiggling his fingers and almost shouted for joy when he felt the over-bleached sheet scratch against his palm. He carefully tested the muscles of his back and flexed each section all the way down his legs to his toes. Despite the fact that his mouth felt as if he’d been sucking on cotton, his head swam and there was a ringing in his ears, seeing the fabric at the foot of the bed roll with the movement of his feet more than made up for the hit by a shit-ton of bricks sensation.

  “Captain DeWinter. I have questions for you.”

  And just like that, all of his goodwill went right into the crapper.

  “Commander,” Marco addressed the diminutive man who came to stand to the right of his bed. “You came to see me? I didn’t know you cared.”

  The twitch of his mustached mouth suggested that the statement was correct. “When one of my officers is injured on the job, I care very much.”

  Of course, Labor and Industry rules took precedence over common decency and care for your fellow man.

  The commander adjusted the lapels of his suit jacket as he puffed out his chest. Here it comes. “Captain, explain to me how you came to be in this condition.”

  Sure. He was going to divulge all of the details like a choir boy confessing his sins in church. Even if he did remember them all.

  “Honestly, Commander, it’s all a little hazy. I’m sure Coulter filled you in on what happened.”

  “Lieutenant Coulter told me his version. I want to hear yours.”

  “Well…” he didn’t dare look to Coulter for assistance, especially when the truth was there had been very little, okay, absolutely no reason to have given chase in the first place. He wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself that it had only been his pride and overzealousness that had driven him up to the roof. An offense the commander wouldn’t hesitate to use to rip him a new asshole. Coulter was good at keeping his mouth shut, but what scenario had the lieutenant come up with?

  “Well, what?” the commander snapped.

  “I’m trying to remember,” he growled. “These drugs they have me on make it hard to think. I—uh, we—were driving down First and I spotted a known drug dealer roaming the street and appearing as if he was off to make a sale. I followed in order to observe his activities better, and the second he saw me, he ran.”

  “Why did you pursue him?”

  “He dropped a dime bag as he ran.”

  “Drugs were not found at the scene, nor on your person. Did you leave it on the street?”

  “I picked it up on the run. It was in my pocket. He must have stolen it back. I remember him coming at me with a knife.”

  “Was this before or after you followed him onto the roof?”

  “Roof?” He blinked with as much innocence as a guy like him could muster. “I don’t remember a roof.”

  The commander’s eyes rounded. “You don’t remember falling three stories?”

  “Is that what happened? No wonder I feel like shit.”

  “Captain—”

  “Excuse me. Why are you causing my patient distress?”

  The sultry voice drew Marco’s gaze to the door. What little energy he had evaporated like water on a hot griddle as heat thickened his blood and raised his temperature.

  Dr. Jasmine Jovanovich appeared every inch like the professional she was with her long brown hair plaited down her back and green scrubs and white lab coat hiding her killer curves. But in his mind’s eye Marco envisioned her looking as she had the last time he had seen her walking the halls of The Cavern as Mistress Jasmina. Then she had been dressed all in black from her neck to her toes. A corset had cinched in her waist, emphasizing her plumped-up breasts that had been covered in a sheer mesh fabric that had done nothing to hide her pretty nipples.

  “Distress?” The commander arched an imperious brow. “The captain is not distressed. Are you, Captain?”

  Marco blinked the kinky vision away and subtly shifted his hands underneath the blanket to cover his growing erection. “Nope. Not at all.”

  Dr. Jovanovich strode into the room with a grace that immediately put Marco on edge. Her eyes danced with amusement as they narrowed with purpose. The woman was up to something.

  “And you are?” she asked the commander.

  “I am Commander Asante,” he answered with an extra little shimmy to his shoulders. Did he actually pop up on tiptoe to appear taller?

  “Lovely to meet you, sir. I’m Dr. Jovanovich. Now if you will excuse us, I need to examine my patient. You may wait out in the lobby.”

  “I’ll be fine right here, Doctor. Go right ahead.”

  “No.”

  It was a simple word, softly spoken, yet Asante started as if she had shouted at the top of her lungs.

  “No?” he sputtered. “What do you mean no?”

  “You may wait in the lobby or anywhere else you please. Not here.”

  “But he’s my officer.”

  “And he’s my patient.”

  Ooo, Marco liked the touch of possessiveness in her voice when she said the word “my”. He liked it a lot.

  Dr. Jovanovich lifted her chin. “Commander Asante, I understand that he is your employee and was injured while on the job, but I will be giving Captain DeWinter a thorough examination, and I cannot have you hovering over my shoulder. When I have more definitive answers to his condition, I will inform you immediately. I am sure you understand my ne
ed for space, Commander Asante.”

  Each time she said his name, a tic flinched near the commander’s left eye and his hands fluttered by his sides. The man swallowed hard with a nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Marco’s eyes widened and his cock leapt beneath his palm. He risked a quick glance around and breathed a slight sigh of relief that he wasn’t hooked up to a heart monitor that would reveal his accelerated heart rate. Damn, the woman was sexy when she put the commander in his place in that butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth tone of voice. Even Coulter had the look of a besotted man that softened his smile.

  She fluttered her lashes. “Leave now, Commander.”

  “Yes. Yes.” He walked out of the room without a backward glance.

  She turned that superior stare toward Coulter who jumped. “Oh, um, I’ll be right outside if you need me, Cap.”

  Coulter’s departure was at a more leisurely pace than the commander’s. When the door swung shut, the doctor sighed and turned toward him with a satisfied smile. “Was that the Commander Asswipe I hear you guys talk about?”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled then fell silent as she stepped closer. Right. Examination. Just how thorough was this examination going to be? “So, Doc. How you doing?”

  Fuck, he winced. Could that sound even more like a pick-up line?

  Her smile widened. “Better than you at the moment, I’d say. Chasing criminals up on rooftops. I thought your last name was DeWinter, not America.”

  “I’m just doing my best to protect the public. I live to serve.”

  The soft hitch of her breath sent another lick of heat to his groin. The sound was so slight, but he heard it, saw the way her body stilled for the space of a heartbeat at his choice of words.

  Part of him wanted to stammer out a retraction, but he held his tongue. He did live to serve and had given his life to his community. However, lately the only person he wanted to serve was her, and he was more than aware of what it took to satisfy the good doctor.