They had already done it once in a frenzy of roaming hands; hot, hungry mouths; and half-removed clothes. Now they were just lounging naked in her bed, enjoying their stolen, secret moments together. She had always loved the feel of his skin against hers. She had never truly enjoyed sex before Caleb. They’d been instantly and inexplicably drawn to each other. Lust at first sight.
Almost a year later, she still couldn’t get enough of him. His hands crept beneath her, palming her ass cheeks, bringing her closer to his mouth. “I can’t believe I missed the thong,” he said, his words muffled against her inner thighs.
“Me either,” Jocelyn said. “That may never happen again.”
His head shot up, a purple sheet monster. He peeled it back, staring at her with an alarmed look. Tufts of his brown hair shot out from the sides of his head. She eyed his broad chest with its black hair, his muscular arms and the knots at the top of each shoulder. He was lean and well-muscled for his age.
Single dads have to stay in shape, he had told her once, even though his son was nearly nineteen now. She had never met his son.
“Don’t take away the thong,” he implored. “You would look so hot in a thong.”
She laughed and pulled him up beside her, smoothing down one side of his hair. He nibbled her ear. “I’m sorry about today. You know I’ve been waiting to nail this guy for months. I wouldn’t normally ditch you—”
“Stop. Don’t apologize for work.”
It was a rule. She’d been a detective for many years. Until Olivia came along, her job was her biggest priority. She lived and breathed it. Caleb was every bit as serious and driven as she had been, and Jocelyn respected that. It was one of the things that had first attracted her to him. She would never begrudge him the time he spent taking down people who hurt children—as many of his cases revolved around children. She knew how hard he and his squad had worked the last several months and how badly he had wanted to arrest the Powell suspect.
She touched his cheek. “I’m glad you guys got that piece of shit off the street.”
Caleb smiled. He caught her hand and kissed it. “One down, one billion to go.”
There was no shortage of perverts or criminals; that was for sure. It was maddening and demoralizing if you let yourself think about it too long. To change the subject, she asked, “Do you know Trent Razmus? In Homicide?”
He sidled closer to her, pressing the length of his naked body against her side, and kissed her shoulder. “You mean Raz?”
Men and their nicknames. She turned into him, face to face, their lips nearly touching. “Yeah, I guess. Is there more than one Trent Razmus in Homicide?”
Caleb caught her lips, his hands roaming again. “No, there’s only one,” he breathed as he moved his mouth to her neck. “He’s a good guy, but do we have to talk about another man right now?”
She laughed. “We were talking about thongs. They’re very uncomfortable.”
It was his turn to laugh. His hand closed over one of her breasts, his mouth not far behind. “It won’t stay on for long. I promise.”
This was what she loved about Caleb—that, post-coitus, he didn’t leave or roll over or go unconscious. He kept worshiping her with his mouth and hands. “Please don’t deprive me of the thong,” he said again. He looked up at her, eyes twinkling. “What color was it?”
She smiled. “Black.”
The noise he made was something between a growl and a moan. His head disappeared beneath the sheet again. Jocelyn closed her eyes and concentrated on the light kisses he left along her stomach. After a moment, he said, “Jocelyn.”
“Yeah,” she breathed.
“I want more.”
“Already?” Not that they hadn’t done it multiple times before. The record was four. The Night of the Grand Slam they called it. Her best friend, Inez, had taken Olivia overnight and part of the next day. They’d spent a full sixteen hours naked, sleeping little and giving each other a workout. Still, they weren’t exactly college kids. She hadn’t expected Caleb to be physically ready so soon.
He laughed, his head inching back to the top of the sheet. “No, not that,” he said. “I mean I do, but that’s not what I meant.” He rolled off her and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her. He pointed at the video monitor, which showed Olivia sleeping peacefully. “It’s been nearly a year, Jocelyn. In less than two weeks, it will be one year since we met.”
He looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes serious, the lines at the corners crinkling. He let the words hang.
A year.
A year since they’d met in the lobby of the Special Victims Unit, the electricity between them palpable. A year since they’d worked together on the case that had nearly killed her and damn near everyone around her. A year since her sister had been clean. A year since the last of the Schoolteacher Attackers had broken into her home and—
“Joc,” Caleb said, his voice firm and loud, calling her back to the present. He turned toward her and touched her cheek, brushing her hair back from her forehead. “Don’t,” he said. He smiled tenderly at her and lay back down on his side, his elbow bent and head propped on his fist. “Stay with me.”
She smiled back at him weakly, pushing the memories away. Still, she shuddered. Caleb pulled her into his arms and she let him, resting her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was reassuring. “What I meant to say was that I would like to meet Olivia.”
Jocelyn reached up and traced his collarbone. “Okay.”
He pulled back and looked into her face. “What?”
“I said ‘okay.’”
“Just like that?”
She laughed again and punched his chest lightly. “Yeah, just like that. You passed the 365 day screening process, so now you may meet my daughter. In an appropriately sanctioned environment.”
Before he could get through his eye roll, she punched him again. He squeezed her and kissed the top of her head. “Will said meeting take place within the next year?” he asked.
“We’ll see.”
Chapter 8
October 17, 2014
“The girls are asleep finally,” Inez said, padding barefoot down Jocelyn’s steps. She wore pink sweatpants and an oversized Marine Corps T-shirt. She plopped down beside Jocelyn on the couch. Leaning forward, she picked up the bottle of Barefoot Moscato they’d been sharing and filled both their glasses.
Inez and Jocelyn had been friends for over a decade. Inez’s youngest daughter, Raquel was only a year older than Olivia, and the two of them were just as close as their mothers. Inez worked patrol in the thirty-fifth district. Over the summer, her husband had returned from his second tour in Afghanistan, but two weeks earlier, he’d been deployed again, this time to West Africa to help contain the Ebola outbreak.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” Inez had said. “Worrying about him getting blown to pieces or worrying about him catching a deadly virus.”
Jocelyn’s friend was taking this deployment hard. Inez’s mother, Martina, had told Jocelyn that Inez wasn’t sleeping well—pacing their living room at night and watching QVC until three in the morning. If I get another set of Wonder Knives delivered to my house, I’m going to wring her neck, Martina had said.