by Freya Barker
Moose’s familiar truck is parked outside her house and we almost bump into him when we walk in the door. Tahlula bends down to greet Luke and Smokey, who are both vying for our attention as I meet Moose’s eyes over her head.
“Penelope is just getting out of the shower, we were on our way to the hospital.”
“Guess you heard.”
“Hard not to, news travels fast here.” He grins, before looking at Tahlula who straightens up. “You okay, girl?”
“A bit bruised is all, Moose. Thanks.”
“Good to know. That’s some crazy shit, sounds like you need to be careful.”
“That’s why she’s coming home with me,” I report. “Until they figure out who’s behind this, she’s safer in town. We’re here to pick up her stuff and the dog.”
“Of course you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, but I’m worried about you guys,” Tahlula adds.
“Don’t be. We’ll be just fine. We’ll keep an eye on the place for you.”
After assuring her I can get the dog’s stuff together, Tahlula disappears to her bedroom to pack. I grab Luke’s things, while filling in some details for Moose the grapevine may not have provided.
“The ANL? I’ve heard of them. I have some buddies in law enforcement and that group has come up a time or two recently. They sound like a bunch homegrown terrorists, if you ask me. What would they want with Tahlula?”
“She says she’s had some issues with hate mail that started after her last book hit it big. She was virtually anonymous before then, but that drew her out into the public eye. She’s biracial, could be some disgruntled racist reader? A jealous colleague with nationalist affiliations? Who the fuck knows what goes on in the minds of people like that? All I know is it was a woman behind the wheel.”
Pen walks into the kitchen as I’m talking and leans into her man, listening intently. “Tahlula okay?”
“She’s in the bedroom packing a few things.”
“I’ll go see if I can give her a hand.”
“It’s funny,” Moose comments, as his eyes follow his wife until she’s out of sight. “Penelope doesn’t make new friends easily, but she seems to have made an instant connection with your woman.”
“I have a feeling Tahlula can use all the friends she can get. She doesn’t appear to have many.”
“Good thing she landed here then, you guys seem pretty friendly with newcomers. Here, let me give you a hand,” he adds, grabbing the large bag of dog food I pull out of the pantry.
By the time we have Luke’s things packed in the truck and head back inside, Tahlula is packing a messenger bag with her laptop and some notebooks. I notice her shoulders are slumped and walk over, sliding a hand up her back and under her hair.
“It’s only temporary,” I reassure her in a soft voice, realizing she’s leaving her comfort zone behind.
“I know,” she whispers back. “I don’t like feeling as if I’m not in the driver’s seat, so to speak. Pissed, really.”
“You have every right to be. Hopefully this’ll get sorted out soon, so you can return to your regular life.” Even as I say the words, the thought stings. I can’t help but like the fact she’ll be in my bed for the foreseeable future, but the fact she seems reluctant to the idea is a bit disheartening.
I take her messenger bag and sling I over my shoulder, grab the suitcase she’s packed, and take them outside while Tahlula leashes Luke.
Moose and Penelope—who grabs hold of Smokey so he doesn’t try to take off after his buddy—see us off.
Tahlula
“That was delicious, Joan.”
We’re sitting on the deck, where Evan directed us while he does dishes, with only the mountains for a view. With Evan’s house set back farther than those on either side of him, it creates the illusion you’re far removed from town. It’s the best of both worlds.
His mother smiles at me. “Thank you. Glad you liked it. Do you cook?”
“I do, but pretty basic stuff. Mostly it’s just me, unless my brother shows up looking for a meal, but he’ll eat anything as long as he doesn’t have to prepare it.”
“Evan cooks and he does it well, but I think that’s because Matthew—his father,” she adds for my benefit, “enjoyed cooking as well. He’d often take care of the meals on the weekends.”
“When did your husband pass away?” I ask carefully.
Joan’s eyes drift to the view. “It’s been four years. A healthy seventy-year-old one moment and the next gone. Massive stroke. The doctor said he likely never knew what was happening.”
“I’m so sorry.” I put my hand on hers. “I know they say it’s a blessing when it happens suddenly, but that’s only true for the person who died, not necessarily for those left behind.”
“You’re absolutely right,” she says, turning a soft smile on me. “I still wake up expecting to find him next to me.”
“I can imagine.”
“You sound like you may have experienced such a loss.”
I glance over to find her warm eyes on me and something prompts me to share. “My mother. She died of an overdose when I was fifteen.”
“Oh dear.” Joan turns her hand palm up under mine and laces our fingers, squeezing gently.
“It’s not that I wasn’t aware she was an addict—she had been as long as I can remember—I simply never really thought of it as something that might kill her one day. Or maybe it was just easier not to. Finding her dead was such a shock.”
We sit in silence for a moment, still holding hands.
“You were so young, still,” she finally says.
“My brother is three years older, he looked after me. Neither of us ever knew our father. Or I should say fathers. I doubt my mother knew.”
“You’re close with your brother?”
I smile at her. “Yes. He still thinks he has to protect me from the world, which can be annoying, but we’re close. In fact, I picked Durango because he moved here.”
“Well, I’m sure I also speak for my son when I say we’re glad you did.”
The sliding door opens and Evan sticks his head out. “Do you guys want tea or something? I’d offer decaf, but I don’t have any. I’ll pick some up tomorrow.”
“Not for me,” Joan says, getting to her feet. “I’m heading home, it’s getting late.”
“I’ll drive you,” Evan offers.
“Nonsense. Why would I leave my car here? I need it tomorrow morning.”
I follow her into the house and watch with amusement as she and Evan squabble all the way to the front door.
“Call me when you get home, Ma,” Evan insists, making his mother roll her eyes to the ceiling.
“Two blocks over, dear. I’m hardly across town.”
“Just call,” he growls, exasperated.
“I’ll text,” she compromises, patting his cheek for good measure. “If it makes you feel better.” Then she turns to me. “As you can see, my son is determined to look after those he cares about, whether they need it or not. Probably best just to let him.”
I grin at her when Evan groans. “I’ve discovered as much myself. Thanks again for dinner, Joan. I hope I can return the favor sometime soon, although I can’t guarantee it’ll be up to your standards.”
“That would be lovely.” She pulls me into a surprisingly strong hug. “Stay safe, honey. Hopefully this situation will be resolved soon.”
“Thanks, Joan.”
We stand in the doorway until her taillights disappear and Evan guides me inside, his arm wrapped around my shoulder. In the small hallway, he turns me and takes my face in his hands.
“Are you still pissed?”
I look into his warm eyes. I held on to my snit over dinner, but I’m done now. “No, because I know your annoying tendency to decide things for me, when I’m fully capable of doing so myself, comes from a good place.”
His face cracks into a big smile. “Is that so? Ma share that wisdom?”
“Maybe. We had a nice ch
at.” I slide my arms around his waist and tilt my head back. “She suggested I let you take care of me.”
“Don’t let her levelheaded response to what happened today fool you. She’s worried about you.”
“About us,” I correct him, the feel of his warm hand sliding down my back to my ass.
“Yeah. Tell you what; we can look after each other.”
“Oh yeah?” I grin and bite my lip, never taking my eyes off him as I slowly lower myself to my knees, making quick work of his button fly.
“What are you doing, baby?” His voice is already hoarse with need, and he groans when I free his rigid shaft, curving my fingers around him.
“I can’t be doing it right if you have to ask,” I mumble, right before I slide my lips over the weeping crown.
I tease him, running my tongue along the thick vein all the way to his balls and back up, taking only the tip between my lips.
“Killing me, Lula.”
I hum my approval when his fingers twine in my hair. With one hand on his thigh for stability, I reach the other between his legs, feeling the heavy sac in my palm. I tease the tender stretch of skin behind his balls, gently massaging him while I slide his cock down my throat as far as I can take it.
“Fuck,” he grinds out, his hips jerking when I press down on his taint while working his length with my mouth. “Not gonna last.”
His eyes shimmer with heat as he observes me closely, his fingers tighten in my hair on the verge of painful. A deep flush appears high on his cheekbones and his mouth goes slack. I almost come on the spot, seeing the effect I have on him.
At the same time I slide him deep, swallowing around his length, I run the pads of my fingers firmly from his backside to his balls, sending him flying.
The moment I let him slip from my mouth, he bends down, hooks me under my armpits and pulls me up. “My turn,” he growls, sending a charge straight to the part of me aching with anticipation.
Seconds later, he has me stripped bare and splayed on the couch, his mouth doing wicked things between my legs. Already primed, the moment he spears me with two fingers, sucking hard on my clit, I ignite for him, crying out his name.
He gently kisses his way up my bulging stomach and between my swollen breasts, resting his head there. I softly stroke his short hair, careful to avoid the staples, as I catch my breath.
“Now that’s the kind of care-taking I can get on board with,” I mumble, feeling his chuckle against me in response.
“So noted, gorgeous.”
17
Evan
“I hope I won’t be that long. Need me to pick up anything?”
Tahlula looks up from the kitchen table, which over the past week has been repurposed as an office. I’d offered to bring over her desk, but she told me since this is just temporary, it wouldn’t make sense to start moving stuff here.
That irritated me. I like having her here: in my house. I like waking up with her curls in my face, her head on my shoulder. Love looking into those copper-colored eyes when she sleepily opens them. I like walking up behind her when she’s brushing her teeth, puttering in the kitchen, or working at her laptop, and brushing the hair aside so I can kiss her long neck. When she gets the soft smile on her face that tells me the baby is making itself known, I love laying my hand on her belly and feeling her move.
I especially love sliding into bed with her at night and feeling her round ass press back against me.
Tahlula is probably the most liberated woman I’ve ever been with. She doesn’t hesitate to tell me what she likes, is open to any new explorations, and isn’t afraid to take over when she feels the urge.
We haven’t been out much. Aside from taking Luke on long walks on the trails behind my house, the occasional necessary trip to the store, a quick visit to Ma’s place for dinner once, and Tahlula’s checkup at the clinic last Friday, we’ve mostly hung out around the house. I don’t often take time off, and if I do it’s with a purpose—I’m not one to sit idle—but with Tahlula around, I almost resent having to return to work.
“I think we’re almost out of eggs, but other than that, I think we’re good.” She lifts her face for a kiss, and I’m amazed at how familiar the feel of her lips against mine has become in a relatively short time.
“Want me to pick up some food for Luke? I noticed the bag’s almost empty.” The dog, lying at Tahlula’s feet, lifts his head at the sound of his name. “When I get back, buddy.” Resigned he puts his head back on his paws and closes his eyes.
“If you don’t mind?” She grabs for her purse and starts pulling out her wallet.
“I’ve got it,” I stop her, earning me a sharp look.
“I’m able to take care of myself and my dog.”
“I know you are, but I’ve got this.”
Money is a tender point in every relationship. Not that I have much personal experience, but I’ve been told. This isn’t the first time this week we’ve gone back and forth over who should pay what. I’m starting to recognize the argument isn’t really about money in our case, but a clash between her claim to independence, and my need to look after her.
“Fine,” she mutters, tucking her wallet away, and with it saving that discussion for another day. “You sure you don’t want me to come?”
“I’m positive. No use in both of us sitting in a waiting room. Besides, I’m going to swing by the station after to report back for duty, and Blackfoot said he was popping in to see you.”
“Okay.”
“Gotta go. Later, babe.” I press a hard kiss on her lips before grabbing my phone and keys off the counter.
The investigation into the murder of Lena Griffion has not netted a whole lot so far. From what I gather from Keith, the Denver PD is taking a closer look at known friends and associates of hers, but it’s a long and tedious process. At the same time, Keith is looking into any possible connections to Tahlula, since finding the agent’s body so close to her house, and then almost getting run off the road, implies these events are more than a coincidence.
Of course I’d like it resolved and any potential threat to Tahlula eliminated, but in the meantime, I’m not complaining she’s under my roof and in my bed.
When I get to the clinic, the waiting room is only half full and it doesn’t take all that long to be seen. Removing the staples is a piece of cake, and after a quick examination, I’m given a clean bill of health. With a quick stop at the bakery to pick up some donuts for the guys, I head to the fire station.
One of the rigs is gone, as is an ambulance, so I figure the guys are out on a call, but Steve Aimes, our battalion chief, is in his office.
“How are you feeling?” He gestures to a chair and I take a seat.
“Clean bill of health. You can put me back on rotation.”
“Good to hear. I have a feeling we’ll need all the bodies we can get for the next few weeks. The latest weather reports show record temperatures with a high chance of pop-up thunderstorms. You know what that means.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly. Here is the schedule for the next six weeks,” he says, handing me a sheet. “But prepare to get called in if our regular schedule doesn’t cover it. That new fire on the south face of Animas Mountain has drawn in quite a few of our crews, and being down to almost bare bones with the forecast for the next couple of weeks, I’m thinking you’ll all be doing decent overtime.”
I take a quick look at the schedule in my hand to note my first shift back starts tomorrow morning. Lovely, just what I need. Lazy mornings in bed with Tahlula will likely be a thing of the past for the foreseeable future. Fuck.
Suddenly in a hurry to get back home, I tell Steve I’ll see him tomorrow and head out to my truck.
I have about sixteen hours left before duty calls again.
I plan to make good use of everyone single one.
Tahlula
“You mentioned before you started receiving these messages, you were pretty active on social media.”
Detective Blackfoot showed up about an hour after Evan left.
I’d just been on a roll outlining the next book in the series, Quid Pro Quo, when the doorbell rang. Luke, still getting used to his new surroundings had gone ballistic, but quickly settled when he greeted Keith at the front door. I sometimes wonder if he can sense a threat, because he’s become even more protective than he already was.
“Very much so. These days you don’t get very far as an author unless you build a strong online presence. Anonymity is hard to maintain, which is why I write under a pen name and never posted personal pictures, or shared information that could compromise my identity or location.”
“So what changed?”
“The success with my latest release. There’d been an obscure clause in my contract, stipulating that at the discretion of the publisher, I might be expected to take part in promotional campaigns. When In Flagrante Delicto hit the list, they set up interviews, photo ops, and public appearances. The messages started shortly after that.”
I tell him about the first interview they had set up with The Denver Post. It had taken place at the Griffion Agency offices, and the journalist had put a lot of emphasis on the fact I was local to Denver. The first message had come the day the interview hit the paper.
“Before that, were there any individuals who you’d regularly interact with? Anyone in particular who stood out?”
I open my laptop and open Facebook to show him my page. “My regular profile was at the maximum five thousand friends before I finished my first series. My author page shot from twelve thousand to thirty-one thousand followers over the last year. And that’s only on Facebook. Like I said, I used to be very active, had a good rapport with my readers. It’s almost impossible to point out one single individual.”
“We’ve been trying to trace those hate messages you received, without much luck. They came from a dummy account linked to a generic email. Whoever set those up was very careful to use public computers in libraries and business centers in and around Denver. At least we know they’re likely local to the area.”
