Frankie & Petra

By EA Kafkalas

Frankie & Petra
Is chemistry enough?

Homicide detective Petra Theopholis is good at her job. She closes cases, but her world is turned upside down one morning when she meets a young grad student.

Painter Frankie Martineli has lost everyone she's ever loved in this world, so she wants nothing to do with someone that puts their life on the line every day.

After a one night stand they go their separate ways. When a case draws them together, they find that their passions can't be contained. But when fate throws them both into the face of danger, will their love survive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483535487

Book preview

Chapter One

Petra knew she shouldn’t spend the extra money on a Starbucks latte to jump-start her morning, but ever since Beth left—taking the coffee machine and her heart—she found herself on line with the rest of the City. At this rate she knew she’d be late. However, the coffee at the station had the consistency of the mud pies she and her siblings made in their youth—so she waited. A businessman texting furiously on his BlackBerry caught up in his narcissistic existence held little interest for her. The impeccably dressed Rubenesque woman in front of him with a mane of curls tamed into a neat ponytail was the focus of this morning’s people-watching. A lavender backpack and red converse high tops offset the professional dark suit. Petra wondered if the bag held shoes to go with the suit, or if the woman had a job where the juxtaposition of the two would make her more intriguing.

Renee, the barista, who was as dark as the coffee she served, smiled at Petra and called out the order before she even arrived at the counter. Petra enjoyed the familiar comfort of going somewhere they knew you. She pulled some crisp bills out of her wallet, paid, and deposited the change in the tip bin.

Renee smiled warmly. Good morning, Sunshine. Ya have lovely day, now.

If anyone else had called her that Petra would have laid them out, but Renee’s alto timbre and Jamaican accent always made Petra smile. You, too.

Ya know I will now dat I’s seen you.

This is what a year-and-a-half dry spell did to Petra—made harmless flirting and caffeine the highlight of her day. Feeling the people behind her grow impatient, Petra moved to the other counter to wait for her order.

She surveyed the room—hazard of the trade—but went no further when she saw ‘Red Converse’ sitting at a table. Petra felt something stir. From the front the woman was breathtaking. Petra surmised, from the olive skin tone and raven black hair, that the woman was Mediterranean. Converse was grading papers and sipping her drink. Petra deduced she was a teacher—mid-twenties. She watched as the woman took a bite of her muffin. There was no ring on her finger, so most likely single.

Venti Skim Latte with an extra shot!

Petra took her drink and reached for a sleeve to tuck the steaming cup into before taking a sip. When she turned she noticed the teacher breathing heavily, the olive glow fading from her skin. The teacher searched desperately through her backpack—beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

Oh shit! Petra set her cup down on the young woman’s table. You’re having an allergic reaction, aren’t you?

Yellow-green eyes wide with panic looked into hers and she nodded her head.

Let me help. You have an EpiPen, right? Petra reached for the bag and dumped it on the table. She located the case, snapped it open, and administered the shot. Then she took the woman’s hands in hers and squeezed them to calm her. Petra tried to ignore the feelings the close contact stirred in her.

The woman starred at Petra. And Petra knew in that instant she wanted to look into those eyes forever. What the fuck?

Thank you, the teacher breathed.

We should probably get you to the hospital to follow up?

No! Her tone softened as she explained, I have class in an hour. I’ll be fine. Really.

Reluctantly Petra agreed. She took the muffin to Renee.

Ya’ think she’ll sue? Renee was already swiping a Starbucks card through the system.

Petra looked at the teacher stuffing items back into her bag. She didn’t look like the type to make a federal case. Petra knelt to retrieve a fallen bottle of aspirin. I’m Petra, by the way.

Cool name. I’m Frankie.

Pleasure.

I can assure you, the pleasure is all mine. Frankie grasped her hand tightly. Can I buy you a drink to say thank you?

Petra noticed the flawless skin, the dimples forming around Frankie’s cheeks. She’s stunning and young, perhaps younger than Petra originally thought. How young she couldn’t be sure, but certainly considerably younger than a seasoned detective. There’s no need for that. I have one here.

Oh, perhaps—

It’s all in a days work, Petra said. Which was not entirely true, but Petra couldn’t help but be glad she had helped this particular young woman.

Frankie’s eyes lingered on Petra and Petra felt her looking was like touching. The hint of desire in Frankie’s eyes was palpable. She was going to have to have her prescription checked.

So you make a habit of saving damsels in distress?

Only on Tuesdays, she said.

Lucky for me it’s Tuesday, then.

No need to make an eye doctor appointment, Frankie’s eyes were definitely taking inventory of Petra’s physique. And she’s flirting with me.

So what do super heroes like to eat? Frankie asked.

Petra’s hip buzzed. She snapped her phone open and skimmed the text from her partner. He was running late, so she should get to the office first. I’m needed at the office, if you’ll excuse me.

No, seriously, we have to figure out a time to go out. How about tonight? Are you free?

Really, it’s not necessary—

Hey, any time I’m spared a ride in an ambulance is cause for celebration in my book. So please, help me celebrate.

Frankie’s eyes twinkled and Petra’s resolve was weakening. She hadn’t tingled with anticipation in a long time. What could the harm be in seeing what this was? Sanctuary. One drink. Tonight at seven.

And dinner.

Petra enjoyed the decisiveness in Frankie’s tone. We’ll see. Before Frankie could respond, Petra wished her a nice day and left.

Frankie liked the look of Petra from behind almost as much as she liked the view from the front. She allowed herself the luxury of imaging losing herself in those ultramarine eyes. Petra looked like she stepped out of a Tamara de Lempicka painting, with her high cheek bones and sharp angles. Frankie wondered what she did in that tailored navy suit and crisp white blouse—all mysteries to be resolved at dinner tonight. She checked her watch—another hour before her first class.

Taking a sip of her coffee she realized her breathing had returned to normal; the swelling in her throat was subsiding. Her heart still pounded, but she suspected it had more to do with the woman who just helped her than the shock.

Terribly sorry, the barista said. She slid a Starbucks card across the table. I don’t know what happened, but I do hope ya come back for coffee.

Normally Frankie would have never set foot in a Starbucks again. But, if she hadn’t this morning, she might not have met Petra. Her Nana would say—everything happens for a reason.

Frankie took a moment, letting the amount on the card register. I doubt you did it on purpose. She managed a smile at the woman and pocketed the card. If she did decide not to return, she knew exactly who she’d give it to.

Again, I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to ya’ do not hesitate to ask.

You can tell me what you know about my knight in shining armor, Frankie said. She watched as Renee’s Mars Black eyes lit up.

I know she’s consistent—never changes her coffee order. She’s a very generous tipper. The rest I think you already know for yourself.

The rest?

Renee grinned, She’s smokin’ hot.

Indeed she is.

Chapter Two

Petra was seated at her desk sifting through paperwork, a task that made her head hurt and did little to distract her from the morning’s events. She tried not to smile at the thought of Frankie and their date later. Drinks with a stranger—been a while since she’d done that, especially one who was so much younger. But there was definitely a spark there. Maybe she’d help put an end to the dry patch. The look Frankie was giving her indicated she was probably willing and able. What could it hurt to check it out?

Red blew in carrying two coffees and a paper bag he deposited on her desk.

What’s this? she said.

Peace offering from your favorite bakery. Didn’t know I’d be so late.

She peeked into the bag and saw a cream-filled donut. You know the way to my heart. She began to nibble the excess dough to leave as much of the creamy experience as possible.

He chuckled.

What? She licked the dribbling cream off her finger.

Do you want me to get you two a room?

Shut up! She kicked him.

Okay, I’ll give you a minute. He slid into his desk chair.

So what do we have? he said rolling his chair up to the desk.

Paperwork on the Barnes case.

Did you start it?

You know I hate the computer stuff. She pushed the file toward him.

What are you going to do?

I can sift through the phone logs on the Jones-Appleton case and see if I can find anything.

Pages and pages of phone logs. Yeah! Her mind immediately drifted back to Frankie. Frankie of the missing last name; we didn’t even exchange phone numbers. God, are you getting rusty! With no last name or number there was no chance to do a little preliminary recon. At least the one thing she knew for sure as she opened the file was that this thing tonight would probably be nothing more than sex. Usually once women found out what she did for a living they ran screaming into the hills. But if the chemistry between them was any indication, at least it would be good sex.

What about this? Frankie spun quickly in front of Saheed creating enough movement to allow the little black dress to twirl at the bottom.

I like the strapless better. It shows off your cleavage. He lounged on her bed turning the pages of the latest fashion rag.

The strapless says—

Fuck me. I know. It’s what you want, isn’t it?

She plopped onto the bed beside him. Is it?

A hand the color of burnt sienna mixed with a touch of umber brushed a stray hair off her face. Your love life has been as barren as the Nubo-Sindian desert, my dear. So, yes, let your hair down and get laid for Allah’s sake.

Frankie knew he meant well. Saheed had been her roommate’s lover for almost three years now. Shortly after Monica left her, Anthony brought Saheed home to stay. She kissed his cheek and went back to her closet. Maybe slacks...

The dress! And I meant what I said about letting your hair down. That damned pony tale makes you look like a tomboy.

She pulled the elastic out of her hair allowing the dark curls to tumble around her shoulders and down her back. He was right; the curls were more feminine. He was right about the dry spell too. Saheed was generally frank, succinct, and correct. Damn him! She loved him, but he could be frustrating.

He snapped the magazine shut and stood. At five eight, he was tall for his people and his body had been chiseled out of solid rock. She hated that she could spend the same amount of time at the gym, eat the same foods, and look like the round girl she was, and he looked like a friggin’ god.

Brushing past her, he took the indigo strapless dress, laid it neatly on the bed, picked a pair of heels, stockings, a black bra and skimpy pair of panties she barely remembered buying. Then he chose her silver moonstone scroll necklace, matching earrings and bracelet.

He stood back when it was all laid out, nodded his approval, and bent to kiss her on the forehead. Dress, don’t stress!

The outfit certainly did send a message loud and clear. She could kid herself and pretend she didn’t want to send the message, but why lie? She had spent the entire day dreaming of those ultramarine eyes, actually light ultramarine with a touch of cerulean, gazing into her own. Those strong, long fingers coaxing feelings from her flesh she ached for. Dress it was, she decided, as she heard her Nana’s voice in the back of her head—risk nothing, gain nothing.

Chapter Three

Petra checked her watch—5:45, just enough time to freshen up and make Sanctuary. She shed her daily uniform and showered. The Jones-Appleton case was particularly disturbing to her. All domestic abuse cases made her blood boil. She loved working homicide, finding the killer and giving the family closure. But when a spouse was suspected of battering his wife to death, it made her wish she could find the SOB and bury him in the woods where he’d never hurt a woman again. They never discussed it, but she had a feeling Red shared her fantasy.

The ‘calming’ shower gel her sister gave her for Christmas worked its magic and Petra was showered and dressed in no time at all. She checked her reflection in the mirror and grabbed her blazer. She had chosen gray slacks with a tiny pinstripe and a burgundy blouse. For a moment she wished she hadn’t cropped most of her hair off last summer during the heat wave. But everyone seemed to like it short and if this morning was any indication, Frankie liked what she saw.

She reached for her wallet on the dresser and the badge caught her eye. An internal debate about whether to take her ankle piece ended with her strapping the piece on. The piece wasn’t regulation, but the last time she had left home without it, she ended up with a bullet hole in her shoulder. Hopefully tonight would go without incident, but she’d rather be safe than sorry.

Petra had chosen Sanctuary because it was quiet enough to have a conversation but trendy enough to be hip. She enjoyed the dim lighting and the oversized chairs and sofas. Frankie was standing in front of the restaurant. Any doubts of Frankie’s true intentions were squelched when Petra saw her date’s attire. The red Converse and dark suit had piqued Petra’s curiosity, but the blue cocktail dress caressing Frankie’s olive skin in all the places Petra wanted to made her pulse quicken.

Petra saw the spark in Frankie’s eyes the minute she caught sight of her.

If it’s not my knight in shining armor, Frankie said. I’m so glad you came.

So am I. Petra knew her eyes were lingering a bit too long, but she couldn’t help herself. You look ... beautiful.

The compliment was rewarded with a smile.

And I love the color of that blouse on you.

Thank you. After you, Petra held the door open and followed Frankie into the crowded bar. They found the only space available—a quiet corner near the back—ordered their drinks and settled into the overstuffed love seat.

Up close like this, Petra saw how flawless Frankie’s skin was. The desire to touch it was overwhelming. Again she wondered how old Frankie was. How was your day? she asked instead.

Much too long. Frankie was looking at her now, the desire apparent in her stare. Yours?

Frustrating. Her day was frustrating and now she realized it had nothing to do with the Jones-Appleton case. Petra accepted the dirty martini from the waiter and gulped it down. Forty-two and this woman made her feel like a hormone-crazed adolescent boy. With the alcohol gone, she picked the toothpick out of the glass and popped the olive in her mouth.

Frankie was starring at her inquisitively, probably waiting for an answer to her question. But the last thing Petra wanted to do was talk about her day. Grasping for something, she tried to shift the focus back where it belonged—on Frankie. I saw the papers you were grading. Are you a teacher?

Frankie smiled as she sipped her frozen margarita. She seemed to be thinking about how to answer the question. Finally she said, It’s my fall back plan.

Fall back plan?

You know, in case my real plan doesn’t work.

And what is your real plan?

Promise you won’t run screaming into the night when I tell you?

Like you will when I tell you what I do? Petra thought. What could this young woman do that was so risky? And why did Petra want to know so desperately? I promise.

Frankie looked at her, as if to assess whether the promise were valid. Okay. Frankie left a twenty on the table and stood. I’ll show you. She held her hand out and Petra took it.

Frankie’s hand was coarse. Petra wasn’t expecting that. What could this beautiful young woman do that would cause her skin to feel like sandpaper? And why did Petra want to let her smooth all her angles out with those hands? Petra looked at the fingers entwined around her own and knew it didn’t matter what Frankie did. There was something happening here, something out of the ordinary. And the detective in her had to know what it was.

Frankie let go of Petra’s hand when they exited the building. The abrupt break of contact made Petra long to reconnect. She followed Frankie down the street hoping the cool evening air would tame her libido. But as the gentle evening breeze caught Frankie’s dark curls Petra ached to run her fingers through them. She imagined lifting them from Frankie’s skin and skimming her lips against the back of Frankie’s neck. Consumed by carnal cravings, Petra failed to see Frankie stop short.

Petra slammed in to Frankie, practically knocking her off her feet. She reached out to steady the object of her desire. "Sorry

My fault, Frankie said. I should have given you some warning.

Petra realized they were in front of the Downtown Gallery Window. The Gallery was known for launching promising young artists’ careers. Petra had been here on occasion with her sister’s husband who loved art. She noticed that Frankie was looking through the large window at a painting on the back wall.

That’s mine, Frankie said pointing to a canvas almost as large as Frankie herself.

Petra’s skin prickled as the subject matter registered. Two women were locked in an intimate embrace. For a moment she thought she should look away— but she couldn’t. The bold use of color and the passionate subject matter immediately drew you in.

Frankie was behind her now, head resting on her shoulder, cheek against her own, voice barely a whisper, tickling her ear, Do you like it?

While Frankie’s hand had been reminiscent of sandpaper, her cheek brought to mind Petra’s favorite satin pillow. A combination of lavender and bergamot wafting off Frankie’s skin served to calm her. She hesitated, afraid if she answered, Frankie would pull away. Instead she nodded her head in agreement.

There are a few more in the stock room. They haven’t been hung yet. Would you like to see them?

Again she nodded.

This time her affirmation caused Frankie to pull away.

Petra tried to pull herself together as Frankie fumbled with her keys and unlocked the door. Then the chapped hand was on hers again and she was pulled inside.

The stock room in the back was a large room with canvases lining the walls. A wooden worktable sat in the middle of the room. The florescent lights flickered as they warmed up.

So you’re an artist? Petra asked finally finding her voice.

Frankie set her purse on a desk by the door. Does that scare you?

Given the ugliness Petra was forced to view on a daily basis, the thought of someone capturing the beauty of life on canvas seemed praise worthy, not frightening. Why would it?

People think we’re all a bit unstable. Frankie offered.

Are you?

Frankie looked like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Surprisingly not, but you might owe that to my Nana.

She raised you?

Pretty much. Frankie pulled the paper off three more paintings and stood back to view them with Petra.

Petra saw it was a progression of paintings—each one racier than the one before. She had never been so aroused by artwork before.

Whenever Frankie showed her art to anyone she was opening herself up to compliments or criticism and she had learned over the years how to accept what people had to say. This was different. Her heart raced, building up speed, like a sprinter in the last leg of the relay. She’d watched Petra’s pupils dilate at the sight of her artwork with delight. She had never used her paintings as a tool of seduction before. She’d never wanted to until now and something told her she wouldn’t again. The paintings were so much a part of her—they seemed to flow from a place within. And she wanted Petra to see that place inside of her. Was she crazy? She knew nothing about this stranger. But she was