He comes barreling around the corner, and I lean into him at the last second, feigning surprise. I pat him hard on the back of the shoulder after we collide, and when I do, I notice a hair on the back of his collar. I gently pluck it from his back as carefully and quickly as possible without him noticing.
“Sorry, man,” I say to him good-naturedly, when really I just want to punch him in the face. “I didn’t see you coming.”
“Do yourself a favor and run far and wide from that one,” he says to me, gesturing over his shoulder. “She’s nothing but bad news.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
I watch him head down the hall and climb in the elevator. When the doors close behind him, I decided to head back to my office and put the hair in an evidence tube. I don’t know why; I just do what my gut is telling me to. Besides, I know that Emma will be fine with Claire.
Everything will be fine.
Little did I know it had all gone to shit. I just didn’t know how yet.
THIRTEEN
* * *
JUST ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE
“Hey,” Emma says when she sees me standing in the doorway, watching her. There’s a gentle smile on her face that tells me that she’s happy to see me.
“Hey, yourself,” I reply. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah,” she says as she once again stacks her paperwork and tucks them in her desk drawer before locking it and tucking the key in her purse.
“I have one last thing,” I say hesitantly before handing her the vial with the hair in it.
“What’s this?” she asks, and I do something I promised I would never do again. I lie to Emma. I just hope it doesn’t come back and bite me in the ass later.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “It was recovered from some of the stuff at one of the crime scenes. If you could run it, I would appreciate it.”
“Sure thing,” she says with a smile, and I feel like an asshole for deceiving her. “I’m happy to help.”
“Thanks.”
“Ready to go, big man?” she asks me.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I thought we could go back home for dinner.”
“We can’t,” she says sadly. “I ate all the leftover fries for breakfast.”
“I thought I’d cook, brat.” I laugh.
“I don’t even understand the words that are coming out of your mouth right now,” she says. “What is cooking?”
“Funny, funny,” I reply as we push out the door and head to my car.
“I know.” She fake-flips her hair back, making me laugh.
I beep the locks and pull open the passenger door for her before wrapping my hands around her waist and lifting her up into the cab. I make my way around the front of the Tahoe and climb in the driver seat before heading home with my girl.
I hold her slim hand in mine on my thigh as I drive through town. Pulling into the parking lot of her apartment complex, I shut the car down.
“I thought we were going to your house?” she asks me, her face awash with confusion.
“We are.” I smile gently at her. “But you don’t have any shit there. And honey, I want your fruity shampoo in my shower and your pregnancy vitamins in the cabinet. I want whatever comes with you, because I just want you, in my house, in my bed, in my life. It’s just that simple.”
“You want me every day?” she questions hesitantly. “Just you and me?”
“Until the baby comes along and makes three,” I say, giving her honesty, because that’s what she wants and what I want her to have from me—at least as much as I can give her when I can. “I just want you.”
“Okay, Lee.”
“And, baby?”
“Yeah?” she asks.
“Pack a lot, because this place is a dump and you won’t be coming back,” I tell her as I jump down from the driver seat and walk around the hood to her door. Like I suspected she would be, she’s spitting mad when I pull open her door.
“I already said okay, Lee,” she snaps, her blue eyes shooting fire.
“I know.” I smile at her.
“Then what are you smiling at?”
“You’re always pretty, but fuck me you’re gorgeous when you’re pissed,” I tell her before I pick her up from her seat and place her feet on the ground.
“Don’t be cute when I want to be mad.” She scowls at me, and it only makes my grin spread across my face.
“Let’s go pack your shit.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, and I can see that she’s not really mad. She wants to be with me; she said it last night, and I believe her. This is it. This is our shot. For real.
We head into her apartment that is appallingly bare. Other than sparse furniture and a few clothes, she keeps nothing here. In fact, I don’t even understand why she lives here when I know she pulls a more-than-healthy income from the county as the medical examiner.
“When you grow up with nothing, you don’t need anything,” she whispers, and it hurts my heart so bad that I want to give her anything and everything she’ll let me. I’m not rich, but I’m not poor either.
“You don’t need anything,” I reply. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to give you everything I can.”
“Lee,” she whispers, and her face is soft under the light of her living room.
“I know I don’t have to,” I say as I take her chin in my hand. “But I want to. So just let me have my way. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” she says, and I feel like she’s just given me the world.
“Then let me give you a home. A safe one with a big backyard, a kitchen where a family can come together for dinner, and maybe in time, a surly cat that only likes you or a dog to run through that yard with our daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s get your shit,” I tell her before placing a hard kiss on her lips. “And after dinner, you can scour the internet for the perfect baby crib with rush delivery, because I think we’re going to need some stuff and fast. Let’s go home, make dinner, and then heat up my credit card a little bit on some baby stuff. Because even Claire has a crib, and I love her, but she’s a fucking mess.”
“You know all the baby planning in that house is Wes.” She laughs. “Because Claire is a natural disaster. I bet if you looked right now, there would be Chinese cartons that molded over three weeks ago in her fridge.”
“Truth.”
“Let’s go get my shit so we can go home,” she agrees before taking my hand and leading me into the bedroom, where she packs a bag, and then we head home. It’s too fast, I know, but it’s also not. Emma and I have known each other for over a year, and it’s all just finally clicking into place. Is it happening at warp speed? Yes. Am I going to stop it? Hell no.
I toss her bag in the back seat and lift her up into the passenger seat before climbing in and driving her home, holding her hand in mine the entire drive back across town.
I unlock the front door and lead her up the stairs and down the hall, into the master bedroom. I place her bag on the bed and pull her into my arms.
“Get comfortable,” I say against her mouth before I deepen the kiss and show her that I mean it.
I stow my sidearm and badge in the safe in my nightstand before heading toward the dresser, where I keep my sweatpants. I strip out of my suit and dump it in the hamper before pulling my sweats up my legs. I don’t bother with a T-shirt, because this is how I am at home. When I turn around, Emma hasn’t moved from where I left her, and she has a dazed look on her face.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re just really beautiful,” she whispers.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “But you are.”
“Stop it,” she murmurs, and there is a delightful blush on her cheeks that is so innocent and beautiful.
“No,” I respond as I make my way across the room and pull her into my arms. She curls into me, and I lean toward her, my mouth almost touching hers, when her stomach growls an unholy sound like a demented gri
zzly.
“Well, that’s not at all embarrassing,” she says.
“Don’t be.” I place a short kiss on her mouth. “I gotta feed my girl.” Her stomach roars again, making me chuckle.
“Oh my God!”
“Just curious,” I say, knowing it’ll make her stop being so self-conscious. “Do you have a baby or a zombie in there?”
“A baby, you ass,” she replies, slapping at my shoulder but she does it with a smile on her face.
“Yeah, but I’m your ass.” I kiss her again, because I just can’t help myself.
“Yeah, you are.” She grins. “Now feed me. The were-bear and I will be there in a minute.”
“Were-bear?” I ask. “Is that a thing?”
“If you read romance novels, it is.”
“Sweet. Whatever it is, I love it already,” I tell her honestly as I leave the room, and I barely hear her reply.
“We love you already too.”
I take the stairs two at a time and make my way into the kitchen. I pull a package of chicken breasts from the fridge and rinse them. I pat them dry with a paper towel before seasoning them. I drop some oil in a skillet and heat it up on the stove before dropping the chicken breasts in to cook.
I wash my hands with soap and water in the sink after wiping down the area where I prepped the meat. If there’s one thing my mom taught me growing up, it’s that a sanitary kitchen is a happy one and to clean as you go or be sorry after. Out of the two of us, I was the one who spent time in the kitchen with our mom. I’m not actually sure Claire can boil water without burning it. She’s kind of like a natural disaster. I loved the time with my mom. I wonder if the babies—ours and Claire’s—will grow up helping mom in the kitchen. There’s nothing I want more than to make that a reality.
I grab a pair of tongs and flip the chicken in the pan before pulling some vegetables from the fridge. I wash and chop lettuce, onion, tomatoes, and a cucumber, tossing them in a bowl as I go. It’s not a fancy dinner, but it’s a healthy one. I make this meal often enough for myself to know it’s satisfying after a long day.
I shut off the stove and pull the chicken out to rest on a wooden cutting board before I chop it, when I feel the change in the room. I know she’s standing there, watching me. I would know Emma’s presence anywhere.
She’s wearing my T-shirt again but nothing else other than my thick socks as she leans against the doorjamb, and I have to swallow twice to clear my throat, because hands down she is the sexiest woman I have ever seen in my life just as she is right now.
“So,” she says with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Is this how you stay in such good shape? Because I don’t know if I can live a carb-free existence. We might have to break up.”
“No.” I smile at her as I open up the old-fashioned wooden bread box in the corner and pull out a bag of dinner rolls.
“You were just a little too prepared there, Cap,” she says as I place two rolls on a plate before filling it with salad and topping it with chicken.
“I’m not taking any chances with you,” I admit before pulling a tub of chemical-ridden margarine out of the fridge that I bought just for her, because she’s not wrong; I do eat pretty healthy.
Emma just laughs at my admission.
I fill my own plate with salad and chicken but now carbs or chemicals and carry them both to the farmhouse kitchen table. I grab a couple bottles of water from the kitchen as Emma grabs napkins and silverware, and we both sit down. I tuck into my meal, but she just sits there for a second, looking at her plate with wide eyes, and I wonder what’s wrong.
“This is… like, a lot of vegetables,” she says, making me laugh. “What?”
“What are you, two?” I ask. “Try it.”
“Okay,” she says, poking at her salad with her fork before finally taking a bite. She chews and her face changes from hesitant to joy. “Holy shit, this is so good.”
“Thanks.” I smile at her and eat the rest of my dinner.
“I think I’ve been spending too much time with your sister.” She laughs.
“Probably.”
We spend the rest of dinner chatting about our day, but it’s not awkward or weird; it’s almost like we’ve been doing this for years. She helps me gather up the dishes and finish putting the leftovers in the fridge when we’re done eating.
“Want to see your present now?” I ask her after I dry my hands on a dish towel.
“You didn’t have to get me a present.”
“I know, but you’ll like this one,” I say as I hold my hand out to her. She takes it immediately, and I lead her up the stairs and down the hallway, not quite to my bedroom.
There are four bedrooms upstairs, and only one of them is currently in use. I let go of her hand and push open the door. It’s a smaller bedroom next to the master. The walls are plain white, and the floor is the same old oak as the rest of the house. It has a small closet behind a door, and a window that looks out over the side yard. And next to the window sits the only piece of furniture in the room, an oversized rocking armchair with a matching stool.
I look back at Emma while she stands in the doorway as a tear slips down her cheek. “Shit. Fuck, honey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“I know,” she cries harder, and I don’t know what to do. Emma is not a crier. “I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m crying because I’m so happy. This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“Really?” I ask, wiping a tear away with the pad of my thumb.
“Really.”
“You wanna try out your new rocker?” I nudge her gently.
“I really do.”
“Okay,” I say as I let her go so she can sit in her new chair.
I watch as she slowly lowers her body and settles in, sighing as she does. The hem of her borrowed shirt rides up her thighs, and I can see the edge of her plain white panties peeking out from underneath. My cock fills, and I close my eyes and take a deep breath to try to stop it before it’s staring her in the face. I want her to have this moment. A woman should get to make her nursery everything she wants it to be for her baby, and I want that for her.
“I’ll paint the walls whatever color you want,” I tell her. “I’ll buy a rug or two for the floors, so they aren’t cold on winter mornings, and I’ll hang the curtains you want.”
“What if I want pink curtains with roses on them?” she asks.
“I’ll buy ‘em, and I’ll bust out a drill and hang the hardware,” I answer. “I want my girls to have everything they want, everything they need in this house.”
“You would do that for me?” she breathes.
“Honey, I would do anything for you and this baby, and any other baby we might have after.”
“You really mean that,” she whispers, the awe in her voice evident, so I give her the rest of the honesty that goes with it. Emma should have all of that and more.
“I really do.”
“Okay.”
“You want pink curtains with roses, baby?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you think on that while I run down the hall and grab my laptop so you can look at furniture and some other stuff we might need.”
“Okay,” she says softly. “But… can we go somewhere and look together?”
“Think you can scoot over and give me some real estate in that big chair?”
“Yeah,” she says softly.
“Then I’ll be right back.”
I head down the hallway to the farthest room away from the master bedroom. It’s the one I use as an office. It has a big wooden desk and a chair, bookshelves, and a sleek silver laptop that sits closed on the desk.
I scoop up the computer and head back down the hall with it under my arm. When Emma sees me, she scoots all the way over to the side of the big chair, and that will just not do, so I lower myself into the chair and scoop her up into my arms so she’s sprawled half on and half off me.
“Comfo
rtable?” I ask her as she lets out a huff and brushes her hair out of her face.
“Yeah.”
“Good.” I smile as I open the laptop on my legs and log in. I don’t hide the keyboard or the password from her; I just turn it to her so she can open up some baby site with a funny name and start looking. I pull out my phone and open up the notes app. “So what do we need?”
“Umm….”
“You’re a little lost too?”
“Yeah,” she admits, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Well, then it’s good we’re in this together,” I tell her.
“Yeah,” she repeats, taking a deep breath before turning back to the computer.
“So let’s start with the basics. Car seat?”
“I kind of like the sets that are a car seat, stroller, and car base,” she says.
“Good start. Make sure it’s a jogger,” I suggest.
“I don’t jog.” She laughs.
“I know, honey, but I do.” Emma gets this dreamy look in her eyes, and I know I must have done something right. Whatever it was, I want to do it over and over again, so she only looks happy like that for the rest of her life.
We pick a set and add it to our online cart.
“Crib or bassinet?” she asks.
“I think we need the room set up here,” I tell her. “But I also think you might want a bassinet in the master bedroom while she’s really little.”
“I like that too,” she agrees.
We add all the furniture to the cart, look at blankets, clothes, diapers, and we load it all. I pull my wallet out of the pocket of my sweatpants and pull out my credit card. I don’t even give her a chance to pay for any of it. I know she can, and I know she works hard and has a great career that she kicks ass at, but this is me taking care of my family.
“We should have Wes and Claire over for pizza and a crib building party,” I suggest.
“I’d really like that.”
“Good, honey. We’ll make that happen.”
“This is really happening, isn’t it?” she asks as I close my laptop and set it aside.
Hush Little Baby Page 9
