Wine and Roses Page 2

  Simon paused. “Did you identify the guy who got shot?”

  “No, so far my partner hasn’t been able to track down the identity of the vic. He had no ID on him. We’re trying to see if we get a fingerprint or facial recognition match in our database.”

  “Can you text me the info?”

  “Now Simon….”

  “She’s my best friend’s sister. Besides you know I have access to a database you all don’t or won’t be able to get into for days. I’ll share whatever I find out.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll be back in the morning.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Chapter Two

  Eboni couldn’t open her eyes.

  Someone had glued them shut, and an elephant sat on her chest. She tried to get her mouth to form the word “water,” but her swollen tongue got in the way. Without saying a word though, a straw brushed between her lips, and she sucked on it gratefully. Fulfillment. Cool liquid bathed her dry mouth bringing needed relief to her gritty throat. After a few sips, she managed to utter, “Thank you.” At least it sounded like it if somewhat raspy.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Her body stilled. She knew that voice. Only one man had a voice making her blood rush south and inner juices gather in preparation for sex. No matter how sick she was. “Simon,” she whispered.

  “Yeah, babe. I’m here. Take a few more pulls.”

  She did as he requested then turned her head in his direction, forcing her eyes open. She had to blink a few times to clear them. The ceiling lights were off. Most of the room lay in shadow but there was low light like a reading lamp or something from behind her head, enough she could see his face. Perfectly sculptured, strong jaw lines, dark brows and hair, sharp cheekbones hinting at a Native American ancestry in his make-up. Yep, still beautiful. “Where am I? What’s going on?”

  He sat on a chair pulled close to the side of the bed. Those ever present dark wrap arounds covering his sensitive eyes. She’d only seen them once. The night they’d made love, and he’d taken off the glasses; his eyes were light gray and shaped like a cat’s. And when she lay with his hard body covering her, and a part of him buried deep within her, she looked into his eyes, and they lit up as if lightning flashed across them as he came. Ross mentioned once, that Simon’s eyes were super sensitive to any light because of a chemical blast. He was lucky he even had sight. Eboni would never forget the vision of his eyes.

  “What do you remember?” he asked not answering her questions.

  “I…I’m not sure.” She wanted to say, “you,” but that’s not what he meant. “Am I in the hospital?”

  “Yes. You’ve been sick.”

  “Yes…that’s right. I remember I have the flu. Where’s Shanna?”

  “They’re on their way back from their honeymoon.”

  “But why? I think I feel better than I did before. I just have the flu.”

  “Actually you were pretty dehydrated, and your temperature reached 103. So the doctor admitted you.”

  “Wow! That is high.” She glanced at the tube attached to her arm. “I guess they’re giving me fluids and meds.”

  “Yes. The doctor should be by soon to talk to you. Do you remember anything else?”

  “How long? How long have I been here?”

  “I brought you here last night. So less than twenty-four hours.”

  “Last night?” She glanced toward a window but the blinds were closed tight. “I…I slept through the day.”

  “It’s only about five, but yeah you needed it.”

  “Still don’t feel great. I remember last night was Shanna’s wedding and…and….” She shook her head. “There’s something else. Something I saw.” The memory rushed back to the forefront of her consciousness. A scene in vivid detail of what she witnessed. “Oh my God!” She turned her head to look at him. “I remember. I remember why I called you. I saw a man get shot. A man…big man in dark clothing pointed a gun at another man on the side pathway.” She tried to rise but her body wouldn’t obey her command. A jackhammer pounded in her head and even her bones ached. Settling back onto the pillow, she breathed deeply before continuing. Okay maybe she wasn’t at full strength. “Did the police catch the guy? Did the one who got shot live? What happened?”

  “Shhh, relax. Don’t get agitated.”

  She frowned. “I’ll be fine once you tell me what I need to know. What happened? Is the guy going to be okay?”

  He paused to answer her question. “No. The man’s dead, and no, the cops didn’t find the one who did it.”

  Fear snaked down her spine. The man doing the shooting got a glimpse of her, and she’d seen him. She could identify him. “Oh God. I’m a witness. I saw him. I saw the man who did it. Big guy, about your height, with blond hair. But Simon.” She held his dark lens-covered gaze. “I’m pretty sure he saw me, too.”

  “Yes, I know. You told me when you called me. But don’t worry. There’s a police officer stationed in front of this door until you’re released, and I will be here with you at all times. If I have to leave you, one of our people will spot me. Tomorrow if you’re up to it, the detective in charge wants to talk to you and have you take a look at a few mug shots.”

  Her audio functions might have been a little fuzzy, but she’d heard him. “Simon you can’t stay in here with me.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “But…but where will you sleep? You can’t stay in that chair.” Although the thought occurred to her he could share the bed with her. Something she’d thought about doing many times over the last few months. And more. They’d only been together once. But Simon treated relationships like short-term, very short-term, projects. Sleep with, enjoy for a day, a night, and move on. Her body and head understood, and it’s what they had done. Well, her head at least. At times, her body still got up in the middle of the night with the taste of him in her mouth. And wanted more. No, she couldn’t go there. If she got involved with him again, he’d break her heart.

  He grinned at her, and she tried to answer it with one of her own. “I won’t be in the chair,” he said, inclining his head to the left. “I’ll be sleeping over there.”

  She shifted her head and saw the cot against the bland beige color of the hospital wall. The white sheets looked wrinkled; she looked at him again. “A little small for you isn’t it.” She smiled. At six two of solid muscle, no way could his frame fit comfortably on that tiny cot. At least not without some pain from having to cram into the space. A yawn forced her mouth open, and suddenly she couldn’t keep her eyes focused. She blinked a few times. “I’m sorry, tired…sleep.”

  “It’s okay, babe, you rest. I’ll be right here when you get up again.”

  She sensed more than saw him lean forward and kiss her forehead. Then the meds in her veins helped to draw her body once more down to the land of slumber.

  ***

  When Eboni woke up again, Simon lay sprawled on the cot against the wall. His feet hung off the end of the too small bed. He’d been right there with her for the last three days, only leaving her for short periods of time but never alone. She had the chance to watch him unobserved and took pleasure in studying his perfect features. Even in sleep the man looked dangerous. Not an innocent bone marred his body. Nothing soft about him. Except for his hair. He wore his dark hair pulled back with the tail end of it hanging around his neck. Her hands held the memory of its thickness and strands as soft as silk. And his mouth. It didn’t look malleable, more like a thin line of arrogance but it could go soft when pressed against any part of her body. She stifled a groan. Both drawn to him and afraid of him. Simon would never physically harm her, yet he could get her to do things so beyond her comfort zone she’d no longer recognize herself. In the brief period of time they’d spent together, she’d known that and acted on it.

  My God, she’d slept with him the night after they’d met. No, she couldn’t romanticize what they’d done; no love involved there, just sex. Raw, gritty, pr
imal. And so tender at times she’d wept. The best she’d ever experienced, and something told her would ever have. Too bad in the end still just sex. Maybe if she kept telling herself that enough, she’d get Simon out of her thoughts.

  Eboni must have made some sort of noise because in an eye blink she was shocked to find herself staring into those pale gray eyes of Simon’s. They darkened to a stormy gray watching her. She could have sworn streaks of lightning flashed in them. The first time she’d seen that peculiar phenomena, he’d been buried inside of her, moving above her, and he’d asked her to open her eyes. No, this man didn’t ask, he commanded. The same way he’d come back to the shop that night before closing.

  Simon brought her a few products Shanna wanted her to try. He could have dropped them off with the receptionist and departed, he didn’t, and they’d been the lasts ones in the salon. Simon handed the package to the receptionist but never said a word to Eboni. Who had trimmed and washed his hair the night before, so when he stuck around, she’d known why. He took a seat near the receptionist desk where he could see her at her station. She’d filled in for one of the stylists. The receptionist gave her the package and gave her his message; he waited for her to finish. After the last customer and stylist left, he helped her clean up. She set the alarm and locked the shop. Only when they stood together outside in front of the salon did he touch her or speak.

  Staring at her he raised one finger and traced the side of her face, her nose, barely skimmed her lips. “I’ve been thinking about you since last night,” Simon said. “I need to bury myself inside you tonight.”

  The bluntness of his declaration did not surprise her. This man did not beat around the bush about his needs. She never once thought about denying him. Instinct guided her decision, and she’d followed him home that night. Later, she forced herself to get up and get the hell outta there while he still slept. But she’d left a piece of herself with him. A part she never thought to get back. So when he stared at her with lightning streaking across his eyes again, she almost lost herself in his storm filled orbs. Some sense of self-preservation saved her. She blinked. “Good morning,” she murmured.

  Slowly, he rose from his lying position. Before straightening to his full height, he grabbed his shades off the table, covered those gorgeous eyes and stretched. She wanted to be a cat and crawl all over him. “Good morning,” he said.

  His voice low and a little husky from sleep, but it also sounded exactly the same way the night she’d lost her mind and spent it with him. She shook her head. Not going there.

  “Morning,” she repeated, her brain too dull to think of anything else.

  He came over to her, his unbound hair brushing over his shoulder and stood watching her at the side of her bed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.” And she spoke the truth, watching this beautiful man would make anyone better. “I don’t feel like I’m cooking in my own skin any more, more normal. I think I might have turned a corner.”

  He smiled. “Good.”

  “So when do you think I’ll be released?”

  “When the doctor says it’s safe and not a second before.”

  She frowned. She couldn’t let him dictate to her. Their one night of togetherness was an aberration, and best he know it. “I’ll decide that.”

  His body leaned toward her, like he wanted to say something, yet before he could reply, the door opened, and her doctor walked in.

  “Good morning, Ms. Stiles.”

  “Good morning, doctor.” A slender and pretty red-headed nurse came in behind him. One she couldn’t remember seeing before, although she’d been out of it the last couple of days. Suddenly, the woman stopped before she reached the bed. Eboni frowned, how odd. Until she realized the woman’s gaze rested not on her but Simon. He stood on the other side of the bed. Yeah. No surprise he attracted women like ants to sugar; she’d seen it both times he’d walked into the salon. The stylists stopped all activity for a second to admire and track the beauty of the man in their midst.

  “Nurse,” the doctor said. His voice must have broken the woman out of her stupor because she continued forward to help the doctor and do her job. They examined her and took her temperature. “Well, it looks like your temperature is down to normal.” The antibiotics are doing their jobs. Excellent. You’re still a little congested but nothing worse than you’d have with a cold.”

  “Great. So can I get out of here today?”

  The doctor smiled. “Let’s see how you do the rest of the day. If your temperature remains steady and your breathing continues to improve, then I don’t see why you can’t be released in the morning.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Simon said.

  “You’re welcome. Now there’s a detective standing outside waiting to question you, if you feel up to it.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Ah yeah, I guess that would be fine.”

  “I think he’s got some pictures for you to look at,” Simon spoke up. “But if you’re not ready, it can wait until tomorrow.”

  “No. I need to get this over with. Get this guy off the street.”

  “All right,” the doctor said. “I’ll send him in.” The doctor left and the nurse remained. She entered something on the chart at the end of the bed but her gaze kept drifting over to Simon. When the detective walked in, she couldn’t stall anymore.

  The man who entered the room was ubber good looking. He and Simon bore or conveyed a similar look and coloring, however he didn’t have Simon’s sensuality. The nurse glanced up at the detective then back and forth between him and Simon. Finally, she sighed and left the room. Eboni noticed all of this and grinned while Simon moved around the bed to shake the detective’s hand.

  “Eboni, you remember Detective Jackson?”

  “Of course, you questioned me the other night.”

  The detective moved closer to the bed to shake her hand. “I also worked on your sister’s harassment case. I hope you’re feeling better, Ms. Stiles.”

  “Yes, thank you, I am.” The touch of his hand did nothing for her. Not the way Simon made her want with just a look. Detective Jackson with his dark blue eyes and square jaw was attractive, but on closer inspection with Simon in the room, well, Jackson swam out of his league.

  The detective held up the briefcase in his hand. “I’ll like to get a basic description of the person you saw, and we can try some face recognition software, see if we can find a match.”

  “Okay. I can do that. Is this in lieu of a sketch artist?” she asked.

  “Yes. This program is very good.” Jackson pulled up one of the two chairs in the room closer to the bed. He moved the empty food tray over her lap to rest the computer on. After opening it up he pressed a few buttons. Simon moved around to the other side of the bed near her left side to see the screen.

  “What you are looking at are several head and face shapes,” Jackson explained. “Choose the one you think closest resembles the person you saw. Then move on to other features hair color, length, etc. Then on the next page we’ll move on to the various features in the face like shapes, nose, and eyes, and then into facial coloring. If you can identify his build we can add that, too.”

  She shifted the laptop and glanced at the images on the screen. “Oh, I get it. Sorta like creating an avatar. Cool. And at the end it will come up with a picture of the guy?” she asked.

  “That’s what we hope,” the detective said.

  She worked silently for a few minutes to get the hang of the software then another several minutes creating an image. But at all times very aware of both men in the room watching her from either side.

  “There,” she finally said. “That’s him. That’s the guy.”

  “Are you sure?” Simon asked.

  Something in the way he asked the question had her turn toward him. “Yes, positive. Why?”

  “Just that he looks familiar.”

  Eboni couldn’t hide her shock. “You know him?”

  “I think so. Looks a lot like Len
Bennis, a mercenary.”

  “Hmm, may I?” Detective Jackson asked before reaching for the laptop.

  “Oh, of course.” She lifted it off the table tray to hand it to him.

  The detective took the laptop and typed something then turned the laptop so she could see the photograph he pulled up. “Is this the man you saw?”

  “My God! That is him!”

  “Are you sure?” Jackson asked again.

  After she nodded, the detective moved the screen back to himself. “Okay, if you’ll excuse me for a moment I need to make a few calls. I’ll be right back.” He turned with the laptop in hand toward the door. Simon followed behind him. “I’ll be back,” he said, closing the door after them.

  ***

  Jackson walked over to the end of the nurse’s station placed the laptop down. “Okay, what’s the deal?” Simon asked.

  “If you know this guy then you probably already know.”

  “All I know is he’s former military, a hired gun, and a real asshole.”

  Jackson looked at the screen. “You didn’t hear this from me, but I know you have access to it. Lenard Gary Bennis, ex-military. Honorable discharge. Seems to have a string of jobs as bodyguard to some interesting people on the FBI watch list. Suspected for years to be involved with questionable activities, one involved a shooting of an American in Jerusalem involved in sensitive talks, another a diplomat, a courier for the Saudi government. The authorities found the courier dead in the bathroom of a plane this Bennis guy happened to be on. The coroner ruled it death by natural causes but the information the courier carried was never found. This guy’s name comes up in connection with two more deaths of foreign nationals in suspicious manners, but he’s never been held for anything. He also conveniently leaves the country at just the right time. So far he’s never been touched. About a year ago, he disappeared off the grid.”

  “Can you find out the name of his last employer?” Simon asked.