Code 11- KPD SWAT Box Set

by Lani Lynn Vale

  I blinked. Then I threw my head back and laughed.

  “That’s my girl,” I said through the tears of laughter. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  ***

  Mercy

  “I don’t want to be on bed rest,” I grumbled.

  Miller looked over at me with pity. “It’s only for the night.”

  I sneered at him.

  “That’s easy for you to say. You get to go to work. And you get to go take a shower. I still have blood all over me,” I replied. “My head doesn’t even hurt!”

  “I’ll wait to take a shower with you,” he teased.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Then I’d just be subjected to smelling your sweat on the sheets. No thank you.”

  He winked, then looked down at his phone on the bed between us when it started to vibrate.

  Mummy Calling.

  “Mummy?” I asked teasingly.

  He winked and pressed answer, then put it on speakerphone.

  “Mummy, how’s it shakin’?” Miller asked loudly.

  I shook my head and laid down on the pillow, watching Miller’s face as he spoke.

  “Miller Genuine, I got a call today from your brother telling me I’m going to be a grandmother again, and not by him. Does Foster have some floozy knocked up again?” His mother started in without preamble.

  Miller’s eyes scrunched closed, and a scar appeared that wasn’t normally visible right under his eye; it stretched across his cheekbone.

  I reached my hand out and traced the scar, causing him to open his eyes as he replied to his mother.

  “Mom, Foster was never the father of that girl’s kid. He…”

  His mother didn’t wait for him to finish.

  “I’m not hearing this again. That kid is his. She said so. It looks just like him. I have a grandkid running around this town and I know it. Foster’s just too stupid and stubborn to admit it. I also don’t hear you denying that he knocked another floozy up,” she snapped.

  “Mother, Foster doesn’t have some girl knocked up. I do,” Miller said loudly.

  Silence.

  I took my finger away from the scar and stared at the phone like it was a live bomb about to go off.

  Then a surprised, excited squeal sounded from the phone, making us both laugh.

  “Micah! My baby’s having a baby!” his mother screeched.

  I closed my eyes and smiled.

  Thankful that I was still pregnant and witnessing this conversation under much different circumstances than I would’ve been if I’d miscarried like I’d thought was happening earlier.

  Turns out that the source of the bleeding hadn’t had anything at all to do with the baby, and everything to do with the fact that I’d managed to fall on a shard of glass. I was to follow up with my OB/GYN two days from now to have a more thorough exam, but from what they could tell, I was fine.

  I was on bed rest for a day because of the concussion I’d sustained when I’d hit my head.

  Whatever the reason, the baby was still snugly in my womb, and I was happy.

  I knew that this baby was Miller’s. From the bottom of my heart I knew it. So I chose to rejoice in the pregnancy, because any baby was a blessing from God.

  I just hoped my parents reacted the same way that Miller’s mother was still reacting.

  “Jesus, woman. We’re in the bar. Take it to the back if you want to yell about babies and bullshit,” A gruff, older man’s voice grumbled from further away.

  That must’ve been ‘Micah,’ Miller’s father.

  Miller yawned loudly. “Alright, Ma. We’re heading to bed. It’s been a long goddamned day, and I have to be at work at four.”

  “Wait!” She shouted loudly. “Are you coming down for the family reunion next weekend?”

  He opened his eyes and raised his eyebrows at me in question as if to ask, ‘Well?’

  I nodded.

  That actually sounded like a lot of fun, and it’d be nice to get to spend more time with his family that he loved to talk so much about.

  “Yeah, Ma. We’ll be there,” he said gruffly.

  I smiled at what she said next.

  “Great, I made us cool shirts!”

  With that, she hung up before he could reply, and I laughed my ass off at the expression on his face.

  “What,” I said in between laughs. “You don’t like wearing matching shirts?”

  He shook his head. “Nope; at least not what she thinks of as ‘cool shirts.’”

  I pulled his hand away from his chest, and into my own, tucking my chin against his big fist as we gazed into each other’s eyes.

  “I need to tell my parents tomorrow,” I said softly.

  He gave my hand a squeeze and closed his eyes. “We can do that after I get off around five. We’ll have them over for dinner. Sound okay?”

  I nodded, thankful that he wanted to do it with me.

  “My dad’s going to be pissed, and might not understand,” I said softly, still watching his face.

  He opened his eyes and smiled slowly. “Then I’ll make him understand.”

  ***

  I woke in the middle of the night to Miller’s hands cupping my breasts, and his big body pushed up behind me.

  His erection was poking me in the backside, and I wanted him.

  Badly.

  I should’ve never said ‘just once.’

  I’d jinxed myself by saying it, and now I didn’t know how to tell him I wanted more.

  As my eyes fell closed once again, I knew I’d have to find a way to convince him I wanted it.

  He wouldn’t do anything until I gave him the green light.

  My mind was on green. My heart was on green. However, my mouth was on red. I’d never been the best with expressing my sexual desires, and even more so now.

  The one time I’d told a man what I wanted, he’d used it against me.

  And although I knew that Miller would never do that to me, I couldn’t make my mouth say the words.

  I’d have to show him.

  Hopefully, he’d figure it out soon, because I couldn’t keep waking up to this. It was torture in and of itself. A special kind of torture, but still freakin’ torture.

  Chapter 12

  You don’t need to drive me crazy. I’m close enough to walk.

  -Coffee Cup

  Mercy

  I looked out the window at my dad and Miller, biting my lip with worry.

  “Just give him a chance to cool down, honey. It’ll be okay,” my mother said softly.

  I turned around on my couch, staring at my mother with trepidation.

  “I’ve never seen him so mad,” I whispered.

  She nodded.

  “Honey,” she said hesitantly. “How do you think it feels that he’s experiencing this? You’re our little girl. We never wished this for you. It never even went through our minds as a possibility when we thought about grandchildren.”

  “It’s Miller’s,” I said softly.

  Her worried eyes turned from the window to me, and she smiled sadly.

  “I know you want it to be…”

  “It’s his,” I said firmly. “I know it with my heart and soul.”

  She looked at me and then nodded. “Okay. Then what are we going to do about damage control? Everyone else isn’t going to be as easy to convince as we are. What are we going to do then?”

  I shook my head.

  I honestly didn’t know how this was going to turn out. If the day in the diner was any indication, it wouldn’t go over really well.

  That was the problem with living in such a small town. People thought they could butt into your business because they’ve known you since you were a baby.

  They didn’t care that they were butting in where they didn’t belong. They only cared about the next tidbit of juicy gossip.

  “Well,” my mother said. “Oh, dear.”

  I looked out the window
to find my dad and Miller in a...hug.

  “What are they doing?” I asked, standing up in alarm.

  My mother stood beside me, and we watched as Miller got the shit hugged out of him.

  My father had gripped him in a hug so ferocious that it was turning Miller’s face red. Not that he pulled away. He stayed there, eyes locked on me through the window, as he took the pounding on the back that my dad was giving him.

  “So… do you think he’s happy?” my mother teased.

  I’d been the one to tell my mother, while Miller had taken my father outside to tell him.

  I’d just told my mother. I’d always felt that news, good or bad, was worth telling. It was like ripping off a Band-Aid.

  Miller had obviously done a little explaining with his news, that’s why he had taken so long.

  “Honey,” my mother’s voice called to me.

  I turned to find her staring at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  She studied my face for a long second before she said what was on her mind.

  “Don’t use him. I don’t know if you’re with him now because of what happened to you, or because you really want to be. No matter what the reason, you need to evaluate that before you take this relationship I see growing in his eyes, any further. Okay?” she asked softly.

  I nodded.

  “I’ve thought about that,” I explained. “In the beginning, I think that was what I was doing. However, over the past few weeks, as I’ve gotten to know him, I feel such a connection with him. I feel like we’ve known each other forever. And the way he treats me makes me all warm inside. What he and I have…I can’t even explain it. It’s something like you and Daddy have. Maybe even something more.”

  She looked at me for a few more seconds, then nodded. “Alright then. Let’s go make some dinner.”

  ***

  “Next weekend you’re going to your parents?” my mother asked.

  Miller nodded. “Yep. Vegas, baby.”

  I scrunched up my nose. “I’ve never been to Vegas before. I’ve also never been on a plane before.”

  “You’ve been on a plane before. You just don’t remember it,” my mother said, scooping up a dollop of mashed potatoes and handing the bowl to my dad.

  My dad took it but chose not to comment on our usual argument.

  “I think she’s smoking something,” I said to Miller. “My sister was the one who was on the plane. I,” I said, turning my gaze to my mom. “Have never been on a plane.”

  “Just because you don’t remember it, doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen,” she laughed.

  My father snorted. “That’s what she said when I allowed her to stop her birth control pills. I don’t remember it. She says I said it. She’s been using that argument for thirty years.”

  I choked on my chicken, and Miller pounded me on the back.

  “Thanks,” I coughed. “Let’s not talk about that at the dinner table. I just finally got my appetite back after you told me about how hot dogs were made.”

  “Well, they’re all ground up noses and assholes. There’s no pussyfooting around that. Just because you like hotdogs doesn’t make them what you want them to be,” he laughed.

  I turned to Miller. “Are you sure you want to be a part of this family?”

  I said it teasingly, but he took the question seriously. “Yes. It’s not any worse than mine. You’ll see that in a week’s time.”

  I patted his thigh.

  I could feel his keys through his jeans pocket, as well as something else circular toward the bottom. When I started to trace the outline of it, he captured my hand, flattening it so it rested on the hard muscle of his thigh.

  Wondering what that was all about, I tried out the whole ‘show him I want sex’ thing. Yet when I started to move my hand toward his crotch and had just gotten to where my fingertips were on the seam of his zipper, the dog started to bark at me.

  I looked down to see my mother’s Boston Terrier, Hiccup, at my feet.

  Hiccup was an asshole.

  He was such a cockblocker. He did it to my parents, too, so their gazes followed my hand, taking in the fact that I didn’t have my hand in my own lap.

  My mother said, “You know, dear. If you wanted to feel him up, at least put the damn dog outside.”

  My face flamed.

  Miller’s confused, “What?” was drowned out by Hiccup’s incessant barking.

  I tried to move my hand away, but Miller not understanding what was going on, moved my hand closer to his lower belly, pulling me in close.

  “What’s he barking for?” Miller asked, looking down at the dog who kept nudging my arm to get me to let go of Miller.

  Hiccup probably would’ve kept barking, too, if Miller’s pager hadn’t gone off.

  “On that note,” I said, standing up from the table. “It’s time for us to go.”

  “Actually,” Miller said, looking at the readout. “I’ve got to go straight from here. Do you mind staying here? I’ll come back for you once I’m done.”

  “We can take her home,” my father said, standing up, too.

  “No,” he said firmly. “I’ll be back.”

  Something seemed to be said silently between my father and Miller, because my father nodded instead of pursuing it any further.

  Giving me a quick kiss on the top of my head, he said his goodbyes and was gone in the next moment.

  My father sat back down and continued eating his dinner as if nothing had happened.

  Although he’d had to deal with being called out in the middle of dinner so many times that he’d probably lost count, this was new for me.

  Having to worry.

  I’d done it a lot when my father was a firefighter; however, my father was currently stuffing his face with his low-salt meal. It was different to worry about someone else.

  That meant that Miller meant a whole lot more to me than just a casual acquaintance.

  To worry was to care.

  And right now, I was a mess of nerves thinking about him being out there with guns pointing at his pretty face.

  ***

  Two hours later, my mother and I were glued to the TV as we watched the scene in front of us unfold.

  I popped yet another piece of popcorn into my mouth, so beyond full that I didn’t know why I still had the bowl in my hand.

  “Do you think he’ll jump?” I asked my mother.

  She shook her head. “Hell no. He’s too chickenshit to do it.”

  I snorted but agreed.

  Devon Higgins, the same man who’d been responsible for Foster’s stitches and beard failure, was threatening to jump off the highest building in the city of Kilgore.

  “Even if he did jump, he wouldn’t die,” my father rumbled from behind us.

  We both turned and stared at him in confusion. “Really?”

  He shook his head. “Dead serious.”

  “What would happen to him?” I asked curiously, turning back to the news station that was playing the live news.

  “Broken back. A lot of broken bones… if he’s lucky,” Dad said.

  “Hmm,” was my reply.

  “Is that him?” my mother asked excitedly.

  I moved to the edge of my seat to look at the screen more closely. “No. That’s his brother.”

  “How do you know?” Dad asked.

  I got up and pointed at the screen.

  “That,” I said, indicating the bald spot on his beard. “This is where he had to have his beard shaved for his stitches.”

  “Why didn’t he shave it all off?” Mom asked.

  I shrugged and took my place back on the seat. “I’ve asked this question myself. It all boils down to the fact that the brothers have a bet, and whoever is the first one to shave their face has to pay for their beer for a year.”

  My father snorted. “Now that’s a bet.”

  I secretly agreed, but I was staying out of it.
Seemed the Spurlock boys played dirty when it came to their bets, and they weren’t going to spare their ‘women’ if push came to shove. All was fair in love and war, and all that bullshit.

  “That’s him,” I said, pointing to the screen.

  Miller was approaching Devon from behind, moving slowly so as not to draw attention to himself.

  It was good that he was there, too, because the moment Miller reached the edge of the building, Devon jumped.

  Miller only had enough time to grab a hold of Devon’s belt.

  Devon’s shift in body weight took Miller down to the base of the ledge, hard, slamming him so roughly against the brick that I wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold on.

  My mother and I both gasped as we sat forward in our seats.

  Devon was dangling like a small child by his belt, but he was anything but a child.

  The camera zoomed in on the two men, and I focused in on Miller’s face. What little I could see of it was beat red, and veins popped out all along his neck and forehead.

  The muscles in his arms bulged as he tried desperately to hold on.

  People underneath scrambled.

  I half expected them to do what those clowns in circuses do by putting out a trampoline. Yet, there was none of that going on. They all just moved out of the way.

  Miller’s hand and arm was bursting with veins, and it wasn’t helping that Devon was flailing around like a fish out of water.

  He was saying something, yelling it really, and Miller was yelling something back.

  Then I fell, sliding off the couch to my knees as Devon lifted something out of his pants pocket, pointing whatever it was at Miller.

  Miller visibly recoiled but kept a hold of the belt as he tried in vain to hide his head from whatever Devon had.

  Then the gun came into view as Devon put the gun up to his chin and then pulled the trigger.

  The violence of the shot threw the rest of Devon’s body backward, and Miller dropped him.

  That was the second time I saw someone’s head blown to pieces in less than two months.

  I barely made it to the bathroom in time to heave about five pounds of popcorn, as well as dinner, out of my stomach in a rush.

  “Jesus Christ,” my father growled, dropping down to his knees to smooth my hair away from my face. “Get it all up, baby.”