I’m sitting at the table, my laptop in front of me. It was an exhausting last couple of days, but everything’s turned out okay. Molly’s going to survive—but she’s now a three-legged dog, which is the craziest thing ever. We were reassured that she’ll have a completely normal and long life. She’s still at the vet hospital, racking up a bill that is sure to be huge, but I can’t worry about it now. If I have to put it on my credit card, I will. Molly’s worth it, and so is Katie’s emotional well-being.
“They’ll call us when she’s ready to be picked up.” It’s Saturday morning, early. We spent most of Friday in a haze, worried over Molly, hanging out at the vet, then going home to worry some more as we waited for a phone call from the doctor. Katie cried tears of relief when we were told that Molly would make it, then tears of sorrow when she realized that she’d be minus one leg.
I told Katie that just makes our Molly that much more unique.
We still don’t understand why someone shot Molly. The vet mentioned she could have upset a neighbor. There is a home on a large piece of acreage with cows on it just beyond the woods behind the house—maybe the owner shot her for coming around his property? We have no clue. No one heard the shot, which is weird. Katie mentioned again last night what Lisa told her, how someone is spying on us and that it supposedly is me. She wondered if maybe it was someone else, hence the photos of us? Was my father behind it?
I find that hard to believe. I think it’s one of Lisa’s minions taking photos of us. Who could my father convince to do his dirty work and spy on us? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. This entire so-called spying situation is ludicrous.
All I know is I’ve cut my time down in Southern California by two days. If I work damn hard, I can get everything handled in a shorter amount of time. I want to get back to Katie as soon as possible so I can be by her side and help her care for Molly.
“I want to go buy her a new bed,” Katie says as she turns to face me, leaning against the counter. “Something thick and fluffy so she’ll be comfortable.”
“That sounds good.” I get up from the table and go to her, resting my hands on the edge of the counter as I bend over her and drop a soft kiss to her lips. “Are you okay?” I murmur. “Tell me the truth.”
A sigh escapes her. “A little rattled over the fact that someone shot our dog on Thanksgiving, but otherwise, I’m fine.” She offers me a shaky smile and I try to kiss her worry away. “Maybe she wandered into someone’s yard and they got mad at her when she wouldn’t leave?”
“Maybe,” I say distractedly. She can’t stop coming up with multiple reasons since it was confirmed Molly had actually been shot. It’s like Katie’s brain is a jumble, just one excuse after the other falling from her tongue, and I don’t know what to think. Why would someone shoot a sweet dog like Molly? Yeah, I took her to dog defense class for a week straight, but she’s no killer beast. She’s not really even a threat. She’s pretty much a softy and too friendly for her own good.
Clearly, considering she approached some asshole with a serious case of dog rage who shot her, who was probably trying to kill her. If I ever find the dick who did this to her . . .
I’ll want to choke him with my own bare hands.
Katie reaches out and runs her fingers down the buttons of my flannel shirt, rubbing the one in the center of my chest back and forth. “Well, I’d like to say it doesn’t matter what happened, but it does. I don’t like to think it might’ve been one of my neighbors. I’ll never want to leave Molly alone if that’s the case.”
I don’t want her alone here, either, if one of her neighbors is a gun-toting nut job. “You’re not staying here by yourself when I’m gone. I’m serious, Katie. I want you to go to your mom’s.”
“That was already the plan.” She smiles tremulously and I kiss her again. I want to kiss and touch her as much as possible, because I leave tomorrow and won’t see her for a solid six days. I fly home Friday night. That’s too damn long to be away from her, but I have to do it. The timing is for shit considering what happened to Molly, but at least they can go to Liz’s house and I know they’ll be safe there.
Fuck, I hope they’ll be safe there.
“When will you leave for your mom’s?”
“Probably not until Monday morning. I want to make sure Molly’s adjusting okay before we go over there. I don’t want to be too far away from the vet’s in case something goes wrong,” she explains.
“So you’ll stay here and risk being close to a crazed neighbor.” My voice is flat. I don’t like this plan.
“Hey.” She touches my cheek and our gazes meet. “I have Mrs. Anderson. Do you know she’s already called the police seven times because she saw some ‘shady characters,’ as she calls them, hanging around the neighborhood?”
Of course she did. “How many of them were legit?”
Katie laughs. “One. Turns out a woman in the middle of a divorce had a restraining order on her estranged husband. He was caught lurking around. Caught, I might add, thanks to Mrs. Anderson.”
“What’s her first name anyway? Do you know?”
“Lillian I think? No wait, Vivian? I can’t remember.” Katie shakes her head. “That’s awful. I’m a terrible friend.”
“Yeah, you are. Look at her mail next time. Find out what her name is. I’d rather call her Vivian or Lillian or whatever than Mrs. Anderson.” I brush my hand against Katie’s hip and she nudges closer, like she wants more. I’ll give her as much as she wants. We’ll have to pick Molly up soon and then we’ll be consumed with doggy care for the rest of the day but right now, it’s just us.
And I want to take her back to bed.
“I appreciate all that she’s done for me. For us,” Katie says, her voice soft. “She’s very overprotective.”
“So am I. Over all three of you.” I kiss her forehead. “But especially you and Molly.”
She tugs on the front of my shirt, bringing me closer so our torsos brush against each other. “You should take me back to bed,” she whispers.
Hmm, bold Katie is a pleasant surprise. “I was just thinking the same thing,” I murmur against her lips just before I kiss her. My hands go to her waist and I step closer, our bodies meshed as she parts her lips beneath mine and I slide my tongue into her mouth.
It’s been so off for us lately, we haven’t been able to fully connect. I’ve missed that. I’ve missed her.
But now, all I want is to connect. Get her naked and kiss her all over her soft, smooth body. Get her into bed and push inside her, fuck her hard until we’re both coming . . .
Yeah, I need that. Right now. I think she does, too.
She breaks the kiss first, a sly smile on her face as she takes my hand and leads me to her bedroom. “Let’s go,” she murmurs, and I follow her, like I always do. I can never say no to Katie.
We fall onto her bed, me on top of her, helping her shed her clothes. She’s naked beneath her pajamas. No bra, no panties, just Katie. I run my hands and lips all over her skin as she clutches me close, her body arching everywhere my mouth is, as if seeking more. I rear up, unbuttoning my shirt, and tear it off and she reaches for me, her fingers tracing over my tattoo. It’s like she can’t stop touching it, like she needs that reminder. That she meant so damn much to me even when we were kids that I had her permanently inked into my skin.
“I love this,” she murmurs, her gaze lifting from the tattoo to look into my eyes. “Even when we were apart, you thought about me.”
“Always.” I dip my head and kiss her, one hand on her breast, the other between her legs. She opens to me, her thighs parting, a sigh falling from her lips when I touch her in a particular spot. “You were always in my heart, Katie. And on my skin.”
She kisses me, her mouth frantic as it moves beneath mine. I remember the gift I wanted to give her for Christmas, how I have it stashed in a secret spot in her closet where she’d never look. I don’t want to wait for Christmas. The gift would have more meaning now.
> “I’ll be right back,” I whisper against her lips as I pull away from her. She frowns, her brows lowered, eyes dim.
“Where are you going?” she pouts.
I stare at her, momentarily entranced. Her skin is rosy, her nipples hard, and she’s so damn pretty I have to remind myself that yeah, she belongs to me. She’s mine. “I have something for you.”
Ignoring her protests, I go to her walk-in closet and flick on the light, going for the heavy coat she has hanging in the farthest, deepest corner. I pull out the tissue-wrapped present I stashed inside one of the coat’s pockets and rejoin her in bed, handing over the gift. “Merry early Christmas.”
She stares at the red tissue, then looks up at me. “What is it?”
“Open it and see.”
Carefully she unfolds the tissue, her breath catching when she sees it. The old guardian angel charm I gave her, polished and gleaming, now hanging from a silver chain. She holds it up, letting the charm dangle. It spins and twirls, my symbolic gift to her all those years ago. Even when I wasn’t with her physically, at least she had an angel watching over her.
And now she will once again.
“Oh, Will.” She blinks away the tears and clutches the necklace in her fist, pressing it against her chest. “I love it so much. Thank you.”
“I love you,” I whisper, kissing her again and again, telling her just how deeply I feel for her. With my words and lips and tongue. With my hands and body and soul.
This girl is it for me. We’ve been through too much, have seen and done too much together. No one can ever take her place in my heart.
She belongs to me.
When you set your mind to it, you can do just about anything you want. I discovered this a long time ago, when I was a teenager and realized I could have any girl if I just overpowered her a little bit. Oh, they struggled and fought me off as best they could, but they were always weak. I’d hold down their arms, press myself on top of them, and eventually they’d give up.
Then they’d give it up. They always did that.
As I got older, my tastes changed. Some of the girls gave in too damn easily, and that took all the challenge out of it. Then there was my good-for-nothing wife—why I married her I don’t know. More for the fact that she was pregnant with my child than anything else, and I was trying to do the right thing, I guess.
That bitch didn’t want to do dick. The moment she had my son, my namesake, a boy I wanted to be proud of, she lost interest in the both of us. Was always yelling at me, nagging at me about meaningless shit. I was glad when she left. Willy was sad, but he got over it. As long as a boy has his father, he’ll be fine.
I’m a firm believer in that.
The games with women weren’t too much fun after a while. They always gave in. I could buy them off with drugs, which always turned them into limp rag dolls, and I got off on that for a while. Fucking a woman while she’s semiconscious was a turn-on. But soon I grew weary of that, too.
That’s when they got younger. The ones that put up a fight got the shit beat out of them. The ones who lay there and just took it, too terrified to fight back?
They were my absolute favorites.
Maybe that’s what my Will likes about Katherine Watts. The girl just lay there and took it. Is he like his old man after all?
I’ll never know. He won’t talk to me.
Well, he’ll talk to me now, won’t he? I chose this weekend on purpose. Holiday weekends are always understaffed here. They’re all distracted anyway, with thoughts of family and bullshit and the upcoming Christmas season and how much pressure it is, to spend all that money only for those ungrateful shits they call children to hate their presents and bitch the entire time they’re on winter break.
Children. They’re a great blessing. Yet they also fucking suck.
I know for a fact Lisa Swanson is in San Francisco for the weekend, being a good little girl and spending the holiday with her family. I even did a little searching and discovered where her parents’ house is. Google Earth is the greatest invention ever made. Coincidentally enough, they live in Marin—not too far from where I am.
The reunion is in place. Won’t she be surprised? I think so.
I sit on the edge of my bed, waiting for the guard to make his hourly pass. I can hear his footsteps as he approaches and I stand, walking to the bars so I can cling to them and look extra pitiful. I know I’m pale. I feel real hot, too. I have some tricks. I know what I’m doing.
He stops when he sees me, a wary expression on his face. “What’s your problem, Monroe?”
“I’m real uh . . .” I draw in a ragged breath, let it out shakily, and it sounds like I have a damn death rattle in my chest. All those years smoking produced that. A few bouts with pneumonia helped it along. “I’m not feeling so good.”
He squints at me, looking skeptical. “You fucking with me, Monroe? This is, like, the worst time for you to feel like shit. No one’s manning the infirmary tonight.”
I nod, rubbing my chest nice and slow. “My chest aches. And I swear to fucking God my arm is all tingly and weird feeling.” I shake it out for good measure, and I’m pleased with how weak and wobbly it appears.
He steps closer, his hand on his belt, close to whatever weapon he thinks he needs to draw, the asshole. I’m a sick man, weak and feeble. The more I believe it, the more believable it’ll be. “You want some aspirin?”
I laugh, the sound raspy, and I turn it into a horrific cough. This is real. I bet my lungs are as black as can be. Not that I care. I’m all in now. It’s do-or-die time. “I don’t know if that’s really gonna help. I think I’m beyond aspirin.” I cough again, covering my mouth a little late. The guard dodges out of my way so he won’t get my germs, a grimace on his face.
Pussy.
“Listen, I’m serious. If you’re in a bad way, I need to know now. We’ll have to call an outside service or drive you to the local emergency room.” He’s starting to sweat at that idea—I see the little beads of perspiration form at his hairline. Poor fucker. I’m really gonna blow his mind here in a bit. “The doc is off the entire weekend.”
I almost want to shout I know, asshole, but I keep my lips clamped shut.
And proceed to collapse on the floor, my hand still clutching at my chest. The guard starts to shout and I can barely contain the smile on my face. So easy.
Too easy.
The house was quiet while she sat in her parents’ living room, listening to the patter of the rain falling outside as she finished her fifth glass of wine of the evening. She would fly back to Los Angeles first thing in the morning since she wanted to extend this holiday visit as long as possible. Headed back to reality didn’t sound like much fun. She’d rather hide away a little longer. But as usual, work called.
She leaned her head back on the couch and closed her eyes, aiming for a Zen-like attitude, the stem of the glass still clutched between her fingers. The last five days in her hometown of Marin had been about family¸ old friends, and reconsidering her future. Did she still want to be doing the same thing ten years from now? She wasn’t getting any younger. She’d be forty years old next year, and there were a bazillion young blond bitches dying to take her spot.
It wasn’t that she was ungrateful for what she had. A successful career, a lot of money in the bank, and some celebrity status—but her personal life suffered from too much ambition. She couldn’t remember the last time she went out on a date. She’d always envisioned herself becoming a mother one day and used to play with baby dolls all the time when she was a little girl.
But she didn’t think children were in the picture after all. She could adopt, but what kind of mom would she be, working all the time? And did she really want to keep working like this? It had become such a grind.
There was a soft knock at the door and at first she thought she imagined it, sitting up straight, her entire body still as she listened for something, anything to indicate someone was outside. But no, she heard it again. A gent
le rap against her parents’ grand wooden front door, three times.
Knock, knock, knock.
She placed the empty wineglass on a nearby table, her fingers shaking. No one knocked on the door at—she checked her phone—11:17 p.m., especially in her parents’ affluent neighborhood.
It came again. Harder this time, a little more insistent.
Knock, knock, knock.
Slowly she rose from the couch, pushing the hair away from her face, straightening her sweater. She tiptoed as she approached the door, thankful the curtains were drawn tight on the giant front window that faced the street. She could hardly breathe, barely made a sound when it came again, startling her since she was so close.
Knock, knock, knock.
And then she heard a voice, soft and coaxing. Masculine.
Familiar.
“Lisa . . . I know you’re in there . . .”
She frowned at the front door, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling slithering down her spine, the sudden goosebumps that raced across the back of her arms. Damn her sleeping parents for not wanting to ruin the aesthetic of their medieval-style door by putting in a peephole. She’d at least know who was on the other side of that stupid behemoth door right now.
Pressing against the cool wood, she rested her hand on it and whispered close to the crack where the door meets the frame, “Who is this?”
“Open the door and you’ll find out.”
She reared back, her mind scrambling, trying to place the voice. A few nights ago she’d run into an old ex-boyfriend from high school at a bar while out with a friend. He looked good. Incredible, in fact. Recently divorced, a couple of kids, successful real estate broker with a Rolex on his wrist and a too-white smile. She could handle that. Saw them all the time in L.A. He gave her his number and she immediately texted him so he could have hers.
Wouldn’t he text first before he came over? And would he really come over this late on a Sunday night? But who else could it be? She hadn’t seen anyone while she’d been here, not beyond a few female friends she grew up with. No one knew she was here, not really. She kept her whereabouts fairly private.
Never Let You Go (Never #2) Page 26
