J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [64]
José shifted in his bar stool as if he didn’t approve of Butch’s Scotch velocity and the effort of keeping his lip zipped was making him squirm.
As Abby went over to another customer, Butch glanced at José.
“I’m going to get ugly wasted tonight. You shouldn’t stick around.”
José popped some peanuts into his mouth. “I’m not leaving you here.”
“I’ll cab it home.”
“Naw. I’ll hang until you’re through. Then I’ll drag you back to your apartment. Watch you throw up for an hour. Push you into bed. Before I leave I’ll get the coffee machine set up. Aspirin will be right next to the sugar bowl.”
“I don’t have a sugar bowl.”
“So it’ll be next to the bag.”
Butch smiled. “You’d have made a great wife, José.”
“That’s what mine tells me.”
They were silent until Abby poured number four.
“The throwing stars I peeled off that suspect,” Butch said. “Where do we stand with them?”
“Same as the ones we found at the car bomb and around Cherry’s body. Typhoons. Three-point-one ounces of four-forty stainless steel. Four-inch diameter. Removable center weight. You can get ’em off the Internet for about twelve bucks a pop or buy them through martial-arts academies. And no, there were no prints.”
“The other weapons?”
“Flashy set of knives. The boys in the lab got a real hard-on for them. Composite metal, diamond hard, beautifully made by hand. No identifying manufacturer. Gun was your standard nine-millimeter Beretta, model 92G-SD. Real well cared for, and naturally the serial number had been etched off. The freaky thing was the bullets. Never seen anything like ’em. Hollow, filled with some kind of liquid. The boys think it’s just water. But why would someone do that?”
“You gotta be kidding me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And no prints.”
“Nope.”
“On anything.”
“Nope.” José finished the bowl of peanuts and trolled his hand to get Abby’s eye for more. “That suspect’s slick. Neat as a pin. A real professional. Wanna bet he’s moved up north from the Big Apple? He doesn’t sound Caldwell home-grown.”
“Tell me that while I was wasting time with those damn EMTs we checked with the NYPD.”
Abby came over with more nuts and more Scotch.
“We’re doing ballistics on the gun, just to see if there are any unusual characteristics,” José said evenly. “Checking the money to see if it’s hot. First thing in the morning we’ll give the New York boys everything we got, but it’s not going to be much.”
Butch cursed as he watched the bowl get refilled.
“If anything happens to Beth…” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“We’ll find them.” José paused. “And God help him if he hurts her.”
Yeah, Butch would personally go after the guy.
“God help him,” he vowed, making room in his glass for another shot.
Wrath was exhausted as he sat on the couch and waited for Beth to speak again. His body felt as though it were sinking in on itself, his bones weakening under their burden of flesh and muscle.
As he replayed the scene in the station house’s alley, he realized he hadn’t stripped the cop of his memory. Which meant the police were going to be looking for him with an accurate description.
Damn it. He’d been so caught up in the fricking drama, he’d forgotten to protect himself.
He was getting sloppy. And sloppy was dangerous.
“How did you know about the orgasms?” Beth asked abruptly.
He stiffened. And so did his cock, just at hearing the word leave her lips.
Moving his body around to make some room in his pants, he wondered if he could avoid answering her. He didn’t want to talk right now about the sex they’d had. Not with her lying in that bed. Mere feet away from him.
He thought of her skin. Soft. Smooth. Warm.
“How did you know?” she prompted.
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Was it different with you because you’re not…you’re a…Hell, I can’t even say the word.”
“Maybe.” He brought his palms together, linking his fingers tight. “I don’t know.”
Because it had been different for him, too, even though technically she was still a human.
“He’s not my lover. Butch. The cop. He’s not.”
Wrath felt his breath ease out of