by Freya Barker
She’s staring unfocused somewhere over my shoulder.
“My car.”
“We’ll take care of that tomorrow as well.”
Her eyes come to me, tears pooling.
“Sally?”
“Mark saw her home. She’s good. We’ll do damage control tomorrow.”
“Right.” She nods, but doesn’t move.
I take her face in my hands and kiss her softly.
“Upstairs, Sweetheart. You’re swaying on your feet.”
I wait until she reaches the top of the stairs before I turn and head outside. It takes me a couple of minutes to make room in the garage and secure my truck. When I return to the house I can hear the shower running upstairs, but instead of heading up, I go in search of her laundry. All I have are the clothes on my back and they’re rank, so I strip down and toss them in the washer.
The bathroom is steamed up but empty and I quickly hop in the shower myself, washing the smoke and the soot off.
Clean but tired, I wrap a towel around my hips and move into the bedroom, where Reagan’s form is visible under the covers. I slide in beside her and she immediately turns toward me.
“Thank you,” she mumbles drowsily. “I’m so tired, I don’t know if I’m up—”
“Hush. Go to sleep.” I press a kiss on her head and hold her close until I can feel her body relax and her breath even out.
I lie like that, with Reagan’s naked skin pressed to me, and am surprised to find that despite the fact my body notices, the overwhelming feeling is the need to protect her.
Sleep doesn’t come easy for me, my mind trying to make sense of the events of tonight and going into problem-solving mode. I make a mental list of things I have to take care of tomorrow, people I have to call to make sure my business can keep rolling. Pooja’s first on my list, she can take care of most of it, so I can stick around here and give Reagan a hand.
I’m too wired and at some point, I untangle myself from Reagan and go downstairs to grab a drink. I flip on the TV and watch a twenty-four-hour news station while I wait for the washer to finish. Once my clothes are in the dryer, I head back up.
It looks like Reagan is still sleeping, but when I slide under the covers her eyes open a crack.
“I thought you’d left,” she mumbles in a sleepy voice.
“Not a chance,” I whisper back, tucking her close.
“Good. I want you to stay.”
Chapter Eleven
Reagan
“Oh my God…”
I feel his responding chuckle through my body, his face buried in my neck and his cock deep inside me. He lifts up on an elbow and with his other hand brushes away strands of hair stuck to my damp forehead.
He looks good in the morning; a cocky smile behind his beard, eyelids still heavy with sleep, and his hair sticking out in every which way. The hair is mostly my doing, since I held on tight when I woke up with his mouth between my legs.
“Perks of staying the night,” he mumbles, gently sliding in and out of me as we both recover slowly. “Been so long, I’d almost forgotten.”
I try not to show how pleased I am with that admission. Silly, since it’s not like either of us have been monks with half a life already behind us, but it still makes me feel good. Special, somehow.
“I liked you staying here,” I make an admission of my own, my hands stroking his back. “Don’t get me wrong, the sex is…whew, but…” I add quickly when I see his grin grow smug, “being able to fall asleep safely in someone’s arms after a really shitty day felt amazing.”
I wince a little when he pulls out, kissing me between my breasts as he slides off the bed.
“Yeah.” His eyes are soft looking down on me. “Agreed on both counts.”
He grabs my ankles and pulls my legs over the side.
“What are you doing?” I complain.
“Time to get up, Slick. I could stay in bed with you for the weekend and not come up for air, but it’s almost eight and I’m pretty sure Sally will be knocking on the door shortly.”
Right. This is not a casual Saturday morning.
I’m surprised to find him at the stove when I come downstairs. In the time it took me to dry my hair and slap on a little makeup, he’s been busy.
“French toast?” I lean over and peek in the pan.
“Cream cheese and banana stuffed French toast, yes.”
“My mouth is watering.” I reach in the pan to pinch off a bite but he slaps my hand.
“Patience. It needs a few more minutes. Why don’t you make yourself some coffee?”
As expected the food is delicious and I scarf it down. I’m about to complain about how full I am when a knock sounds at the front door.
“I’ll get it,” Cal says and gets up.
I start cleaning up when I hear him greet Sally and both of them walk into the kitchen.
“Morning. Get any sleep?”
I glance over at Cal, whose eyes are dancing.
“I did, surprisingly. What about you?” I ask Sally.
She shrugs and pulls out a stool at the island.
“Meh, so-so. That did leave me with lots of time to think of solutions to our current predicament. I also made a list of possible individuals who have a bone to pick with us.”
I love that she uses the term ‘us’ instead of you. I feel guilty enough she could’ve gotten hurt.
“Perfect. Why don’t I make you a coffee and we can go over your list?”
“Before you do that,” Cal interrupts. “I’m going to get my truck and pull it up to your porch to start unloading it. Do you have any cleaner I can use? It’ll all smell of smoke, so I’ll try to clean what I can before bringing it inside.”
“Laundry room.”
I leave him to look while I work on coffee for Sally. An arm slips around my stomach and I feel his kiss on my exposed shoulder where my shirt has slipped down. I feel the flush rising to my cheeks, as it tends to do when he’s around.
“Make me another one too?” he asks softly, before his heat disappears from behind me.
“Sure.”
I hope my color is back to normal by the time I turn around to hand my assistant her cup. Sally’s eyes twinkle and her smile is wide.
“I just want you to know I’m jealous as fuck and I’m pretty sure I hate you a little, but I can’t deny you look good together. I like him for you.”
I smile back. “Good. I like him for me too. Now, about that list.”
“Well, you know I have your asshole ex at the top of it,” she says unapologetically.
“I don’t know if that’s Neil’s style, though, Sal. It seems a little too…I don’t know…unsophisticated? I have no doubt he’d love to see me go under, although for the life of me I can’t figure out why.”
“That’s easy,” she says, surprising me. “He’s always known you were the better lawyer, and he’s crazy jealous you’ve successfully struck out on your own.”
“Oh, I don’t know. He’s got a pretty good thing going as a prosecutor.”
She snorts. “Please, he only got into the Richmond Commonwealth’s Attorney’s Office because of his father. You talk about him like he was once some idyllic Robin Hood figure, working as a public defender before he lost his shine. Have you ever considered he was never that heroic?” She leans forward with her elbows on the counter. “I looked into his cases once. Did you know he won no more than a handful of cases before he joined his father’s office? And the cases he won as a prosecutor were ones they could’ve put a baboon in charge of and it wouldn’t have made a difference. They were slam-dunk cases.
“I’m sorry, I know you were married to the man, but he’s a petty, little dipfuck and I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
That gives me a minute’s thought. I wonder if she’s right and it’s just been easier to think he was once a good man turned asshole, rather than admit he was one all along and I may have been too young and too blind to see it.
“Who else do you have
on your list?”
“Sean Davis,” she answers right away.
“Sean? Why? I could see if I lost his case, but I didn’t.”
“No, but you did reject him.”
“I’m not buying it. Who’s next?”
“That creepy kid; Emmet Licker. He never called yesterday.”
I’d completely forgotten about that. Shit, I’m supposed to let the prosecutor know if my client is taking the deal.
“Why would he try to burn down my office?”
“Because he doesn’t wanna go to jail. He didn’t seem too eager to accept the plea deal, and hearing you weren’t going to magically make those charges disappear may have been a rude awakening for him. Maybe it was desperation, hoping somehow torching your office would make it all go away. Who knows? The kid’s a limp noodle, he wears his goddamn pants around his knees.”
“What’s this about pants around his knees?” Cal asks, walking in.
“One of Reagan’s clients.”
“Oh?” Cal looks at me with his eyebrow raised. “Should I be worried?”
Sally snickers and I hand Cal his fresh coffee and reassure him with a smile.
“Not even a little.”
Cal
“Pooj? Can you run up to MinuteKEY and get five extra copies made?”
I hand her the key to my apartment. I’ll need one for her, three for the guys, and I want an extra one to give to Reagan, just in case.
I left both her and Sally to deal with what they needed to do after helping them rearrange Reagan’s furniture in her home office. We were able to fit in Sally’s desk—which we were able to salvage—as well as the two heavy filing cabinets. It’s tight, but workable in a pinch. The few other pieces of furniture we were able to rescue we ended storing in the garage for now.
“Sure thing. Need me to pick up some lunch?”
“Chick-fil-A,” Moe yells out from the kitchen, where he’s quickly depleting the contents of my fridge.
“You haven’t stopped eating yet!” Pooja yells back.
Since she’s the one who will be in the office most, we put her desk in front of the window in the living room. The guys did a decent job last night, and early this morning, hauling almost the entire contents of our offices into my apartment. Luckily the loft is a decent size and other than the bathroom and my bedroom, an open concept. I had a pretty minimalistic decor, so other than moving my couch and easy chair out of the way, it wasn’t too difficult to get a few desks in here.
“Those were snacks,” Moe answers, still chewing as he walks up. “I need something substantial.”
“Fine,” I intervene, or these two would keep up their bickering forever. “Pooj, if you don’t mind, take orders.” I toss a few bills on her desk. “Lunch is on me today. And have you heard from Dean?”
“He called in yesterday afternoon, after you left. He’s close, he expects to be back Tuesday or Wednesday.”
Dean is the third bondsman on my team. There are four of us plus Pooja, who basically runs the office. Of the five on our team, she’s the indispensable one. The rest of us rotate interchangeably through the cases, but she is our constant.
“What about you?”
“I had a big breakfast,” I tell her. “Besides, I have to make tracks. I’ve got to meet up with the insurance adjuster.”
“Oh, that reminds me, should I call Brand Automotive to tow Reagan’s car while you’re there?”
“Sure. I have a contractor coming to take a preliminary look too. May as well get as much done as I can while I’m there.”
I leave her to get the orders from the guys and disappear into my bedroom to pack a bag. I haven’t discussed in so many words whether Reagan would be agreeable to me bunking at her place for the time being, but this morning she seemed on board with the concept, which I’ll gladly take as acceptance. The more important consideration is the possibility she’s in danger. The setup yesterday—the fire and the disabling of her car—almost implies someone was trying to get her outside and vulnerable. It ended up not being Reagan in the office and luckily a police cruiser happened by, otherwise things might have turned out a little different.
It doesn’t take me long to grab my stuff together. I’m tossing my shampoo and bodywash into my bag—as much as I love the scent of Reagan’s soap on her, I don’t so much on me—when Mark saunters into my bedroom.
“So it’s like that,” is his only comment when he sees me packing.
“It is.” I zip the bag shut and sling it over my shoulder. “You’ve got an issue with that?”
He barks out a laugh. “Hell no, far from it. You’re moving fast, that’s all.”
“Who are you? My mother?” I’m instantly annoyed.
His answer is a pair of defensive hands he holds up.
“Just looking out for you. She’s your defense attorney.”
I take in a calming breath before responding.
“I’m well aware. Look, I hear what you’re saying, and I appreciate your concern, which is the only reason I’m even responding. If not for what happened yesterday, I might not have been packing my bag today, but I have no doubt it would’ve happened eventually.”
“You feel that way about her?”
He seems incredulous which pisses me off, even though I know where he’s coming from. I’m not one for relationships. I think the times any of my employees have seen me with a woman over the years can be counted on a sawyer’s handful.
“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but yes. Now, can you step the fuck aside so I can get on my way?”
I ignore his grin as he moves to one side, letting me slip through.
Later that afternoon when I walk into Reagan’s house with my bag, she and Sally are still working. Both heads come up and turn my way. Sally is smiling when she sees the large pizza box on top of the case of beer I’m carrying, but Reagan’s eyes are focused on the bag over my shoulder before they meet mine.
“Not sure what your plans are, Sally, but I brought enough pizza for us all.”
“No plans and I’m starving. If I wasn’t afraid my boss might scratch my eyes out, I’d kiss you right now,” she answers and I grin at her, but when I look at Reagan she’s not smiling.
“What about you, Slick? Hungry?”
“Give us ten minutes?”
“You bet.”
I dump my bag at the bottom of the stairs and take the pizza into the kitchen, where I grab three plates from the cupboard and tear off some paper towels. I shove the pizza box in the oven, hoping it’ll stay warmer in there, and am stacking the fridge with beer when Reagan walks into the kitchen.
“Uh, Cal?”
I see the concern in her eyes, and respond by pulling her into my arms and covering her mouth with mine.
“Hi,” I whisper when I come up for air, my nose touching hers. Her beautiful eyes blink at me, but the worry is still there. “My apartment is now my office, which has to house five people when we’re all in town. You seemed happy I stayed the night, so I kinda assumed…”
She shakes her head sharply.
“That’s not it. I just discovered something when you walked in.”
She looks almost guilty.
“What is it?”
“I was catching up on emails and there was one from Shafer, the prosecutor. He apologized for not getting back to me on the tapes from the jail security, but said he had no access to them. Apparently he was only standing in for someone else from his office last Monday.”
“So he’s not the one handling my case?”
“No. Neil Tory is.”
She looks at me like that name is supposed to mean something to me, but other than it sounds vaguely familiar, I can’t place it.
“Should I know who that is?” I finally ask.
“I guess not, since he’s a subject that hasn’t come up yet. Neil Tory is my ex-husband.”
Now I can place the name. I’m pretty sure Jackson mentioned it at some point. I remember he didn’t have muc
h love for the man.
“I’m guessing that’s not a good thing?”
She snorts nervously at that.
“No. I’m afraid he may be using your case for a chance to get back at me.”
Chapter Twelve
Reagan
I dig up the card Detective Melville handed me.
When Sally first mentioned putting Neil at the top of her list yesterday, I brushed it off as too farfetched. Now I’m not so sure. I also wouldn’t have thought he’d ever pursue a case as questionable as the one against Cal, but he is and I can’t help but think it’s because of me.
Cal and I butted heads yesterday when I told him the best course of action all around would be for me to withdraw from his case. That went over like a lead balloon. When Sally came into the kitchen and squarely backed Cal on his insistence I stay on the case, agreeing with him that making any changes now would only cause a delay, I gave in. The truth is, it would cause a delay and I don’t want Cal to have to walk around with this cloud over his head any longer than necessary.
“Melville.”
“Detective Melville, it’s Reagan Cole. I’m sorry to disturb you on a Sunday, but you asked me to let you know if I have a list of people who may not be too happy with me.”
“In this line of work, the days of the week blend together,” he says. “You were able to come up with some names?”
“With the help of my assistant, yes.”
“Any chance you could meet me at the station before noon? I promised my wife I’d be home this afternoon, but a new case popped up overnight,” he explains apologetically.
I glance at the clock. It’s just shy of eleven and it’ll only take me fifteen minutes to get downtown.
“I can. I’ll see you shortly.”
When I hang up, I find Cal leaning against the doorway to my office, a garment bag folded over an arm. He must’ve just walked in.
After pizza last night, Sally and I worked until about ten when she left. We wanted to get the motions done for Monday—Sally had things to do today—and had some trouble converting the voice recordings from my phone onto a USB-key. By the time I closed the door behind her, I found Cal had gone upstairs already. He was fast asleep in my bed.
