by R. T. Wolfe
Nathan lifted his brows while tilting his head. Together, they ran towels along their necks as they watched the small children run through the warm creek with their parents. Teenagers took turns with the two paddle boats Nathan had added to his collection of large toys. The crowd was thin for now, yet promised to turn into one of the larger Reed gatherings.
Picking up a shovel, Duncan spoke up, "I bought some land north of here. Andy agreed to build me a house."
Nathan was bending to pick up his shovel but paused. Duncan noticed he closed his eyes tightly before grabbing it. "Is that so?" Nathan dug the shovel into the load of sand and tossed it toward the edges of the shallow wooden frame. "How much land?"
He smiled at his uncle's attempt to look casual and appreciated his warm, yet guarded reaction. "Just under forty acres. What the hell am I going to do with forty acres?" Bits of sand stuck to his skin as he helped spread it to the perimeter. "Do you really think people are going to play sand volleyball in this heat?"
"Sure, since they'll have you to fill up their water guns after. Where exactly is north of here?"
Duncan wondered how he ever got these jobs anyway. "Three miles from the outskirts of town on the Eighty-Six."
"I know a wood working artist who might be interested in the cabinet and trim work."
Sighing, Duncan looked over his shoulder at him. "You have your own backlog of customer orders, and I have plans for a very big house."
Nathan stopped and rested a hand on the end of the handle of his shovel. "You mean Duncan Reed big? Let me at least oversee the work."
Duncan held out a dirty hand and they shook on it.
* * *
Securing the wired netting around the aviary was mindless work for Andy, and that was a good thing, because his mind twisted with the last few days. He gladly ran the changes through in his head. The beautiful woman holding the netting next to him was an added bonus. He made efforts to respect her position here and keep to his work. It took a lot of effort.
The smell of freshly sawn four-bys and the sound of the staple gun helped him focus. Mostly.
Rose in her work mode left no room for play. Everything was serious, intense. Her sleeves were pushed up, her brows were scrunched and her legs were braced. Mmm. Long, lean legs. He knew they must be flexed and defined and... distractions.
He misplaced a staple, making the edge of the frame splinter. "Shit." He looked around.
"What do you need? I'll get it."
He couldn't keep from smiling. She wouldn't be off to get what he needed right now. "Got it." Reaching into his tool belt, he pulled out a chisel and pried the staple from the wood as he noticed Rose's assistant coming out the back of the main action center building. She carried two water bottles and a couple of bars of some kind.
"Got your text, boss." She wore tight, white denim capris that showed off both her female curves and the toffee color of her skin.
"Wow." Grace looked up at the enclosure. "Is it done?"
Rose took the water and bars from her.
"Nope. She's got a few more corners and hinges, then I've got some perches and a tree to install." Andy stuck the chisel back in its pocket and reached in another for the staple gun.
"You need anything else? If not, I'm going right back into the air conditioning and back to that cute intern." She didn't leave without Andy noticing her suspicious glare.
"No, thank you." Rose shook her head. "That's all."
Yup. Curt, serious efficient, sexy, his. He finished the corner they'd started, allowing Grace to disappear back into the main building.
He walked up to her and stood close, without touching, until she turned to him. "Mmm. Peaches."
Rose blinked three times rapidly as her chest expanded and released a long sigh.
"I see it's break time. There's a private spot in that storage shed over there."
Rose lifted a brow high, then pursed her lips together. "I am the most upcoming doctor of biology in the Northeast and a respected conservationist. I can't run off midday for a piece of nookie."
Discreetly, he linked the tips of their fingers as they rested at their sides. "I want my break."
Chapter 22
Rose chewed on the side of her cheek and thinned her lips. Andy stepped, barely brushing against her, and whispered with lips close to her ear. "If we get caught, you can kick my ass."
Casually, he picked up several scrap pieces of wood and some random tools, placed them in a wheelbarrow and headed for the shed.
The wheelbarrows-as-props barely fit as he wedged a board through the inside handles of the metal doors.
Rose warned him. "Keep your voice down. What if someone hears us?"
He smiled wide and jutted his chin back. "You're the noisy one." The blue of her eyes lit in the beams of light that crept through small seams in the walls.
"Your hands," she purred as she took one and guided it to her, then molded hers around it.
He took, grabbing possessively, and slid his other hand behind her knee, pulling her leg around his back. In the dark, her head fell against him as she hung on behind him with her leg. Her warm lips traveled along his neck and over his collarbone.
She balanced using her lifted knee while grappling under his shirt. They rotated. Something fell over, broke. He traveled his mouth along her silky neck and down her chest, unbuttoning her shirt and letting his lips follow the release of each. She tasted as good as she smelled. Her flesh was as soft as her lips. Flipping the front latch, the material caught. He expelled a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Pulling back just enough as his eyes adjusted in the dark, he spread the material, exploring her flawless skin in the dim light. He grabbed hold possessively, circled then pulled just enough to feel her quake.
Andy's exploring lips and invading hands covered her, giving her little time to think, let alone keep any kind of professional composure. She let her leg slide down his side to the ground as he released the button and zipper of her slacks letting them pool around her feet. His hand plunged into lace and over warmth.
The sensations of want and need—being wanted, being needed—overwhelmed and took control. He cupped his hand, assaulting, pressing. She felt the first wave of heat radiating from low in her body. He must have known because he covered her with hands and lips. Her forehead dug into his shoulder and moved back and forth. Shaking, she held on to him.
In a low voice, he turned his head toward her ear. "You're making me crazy."
Her smile turned sly. She knew she had him completely vulnerable and stared intently, watching as she opened his jeans and led him painfully slow.
Her legs wavered, but he held her up as they moved together. She kept her gaze locked with those caramel brown eyes that held so much of her in them. She began to tighten, felt him shake and watched his eyes turn glassy.
This was theirs. She matched Andy as they went over together, a layer of sheen giving smooth movement between them. Her mind spun; her body electrified. She felt him hold onto her hips with urgency. The ride down was slow and long.
They stood together, content and as close as possible, joined.
"You've still never said it."
Was that true? Her smile was slight when she opened her eyes to him. Sincere. The beams of sunlight were enough to faintly see the ring of slate blue around the light brown of his eyes. "You take my breath away, Andy. I love you," she said and kissed one of his eyelids. "I love you." She kissed the other. "I love you." Taking his mouth, she locked her feet together behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, sinking deep into the moment.
* * *
Sunburns ignored, children dragged themselves from Black Creek and teenagers from volleyball to take up water guns and balloons. Those brave enough to go shoeless walked like they were on hot coals over the dry and brittle grass from the field, then straightened as soon as they reached the barefoot grass of Duncan's aunt and uncle's property.
Duncan reclined on a padded, cast iron chair near the hos
e spigot. He wasn't so occupied with his role of passing out and filling water guns and balloons that he didn't notice the two people still missing from the Fourth of July festivities were Andy and Rose.
He looked around at the space he'd spent most of his childhood. Years of deadheading, trimming and weed-pulling had once convinced him to make a vow never to allow anything but sod in any property he owned. Now, he found himself admiring the balance of greens, brown-tufted grasses and floral color.
In the landscaping plot closest to Black Creek, two personalized garden stones caught his attention, one for Macey and one for Goldie. Cancer took the one and a broken heart took the other. He missed them more than he'd expected.
The memory left him when Amanda caught his eye in the distance, walking over the bridge with... Dave? How many years had it been since the detective had been to one of these? They maneuvered next to each other with subtle body language that told Duncan they were more than divorced parents working to have an amicable relationship for the sake of their daughters. As they approached, swelling around Amanda's bug-eye sunglasses was evident to him but likely wouldn't be noticed by others.
Sitting comfortably, he nodded in greeting before warning the two of them of the teenagers with loaded water guns waiting in hiding. They seemed to have suspected this already as they headed straight for the safety of the house.
Most of the older adults were inside, except for the ones that were too young at heart to realize they were the older adults. His uncle fell into that category. Nathan morphed into a junior high boy each Fourth of July, rolling in the grass and shooting anything that moved with a time-honored tradition.
Even at close to eighty, Duncan's grandparents could be caught necking if one paid attention. They weren't quite scared enough of getting wet to go inside and mostly wanted to snuggle on the oversized folding chair and watch their grandchildren play.
No one dared to get Duncan wet. He had the hose. Even still, the little ones drew to him like a magnet. Purposely, they teased him until he turned the hose on them for a quick once over in the heat.
Inside, toddlers and infants took late afternoon naps in bedrooms upstairs while their parents snacked, laughed, and told old stories and new jokes. Each table, counter, chair, and couch was occupied.
Due to the line of cars, Andy parked far and walked up the drive. Together, he and Rose moseyed in silence. He pondered over the hundreds of times they'd strolled this paved road together. Mostly, he thought of how similar it felt, yet in reality, completely different. Now, it was absolute and gloriously permanent.
He held the door for her, inhaling the scent of peaches as she passed. She paused in the foyer as he caught up. He felt a familiar sense of teamwork as they moved around each other. Give and take. It took a few seconds for the two of them to realize the crowded room had gone silent. He looked to Rose, looked around his friends and family, then back to Rose. With a thousand-watt smile, he linked fingers with her and walked into the kitchen, holding their joined hands high like a teenage boy who'd just won a bet. Cheers erupted and toasts circled, honoring the two of them. Words of well wishes were offered as relatives bragged about knowing this would happen all along.
It took little time for Andy to notice someone was missing. He asked as a general question to whoever was listening, "Where's Duncan?" It took only a second for him to answer his own question. "Damn it. I'm missing the water fight?" He dropped Rose like an end loader drops a ton of river rock. "I'll get crap for guns." He turned to her and winked seductively before heading back out the front.
He made sure to have a loaded arsenal of filled balloons ready and topped off his water guns. Slowly, he slipped onto his folks' bedroom balcony, readying a bucket of water meant for Duncan's head.
Duncan lifted a brow before pivoting out of the way of the dropping water and turning the hose up at Andy.
Fights ensued. Grown men shrunk to the maturity of small boys. Getting soaked was a battle scar to be worn proudly. He had mixed feeling playing war with his brother ever since Duncan returned from the Mideast. Hiding behind bushes, running, diving, shooting. Duncan never showed any signs of emotional scars. They split up into teams, planned, scammed, and attacked until their stomachs spoke louder than their egos.
Andy was one of the first inside; clean but soaking wet, he walked straight to Rose, dipping her into a long, dramatic kiss. More cheers and cat whistles burst out as the group settled in for a late dinner. Most took their plates outdoors.
Nathan approached Andy as Rose chatted with the elderly Grandma and Grandpa Reed. "When?"
Andy turned, lifted his brows up and down once. "Yesterday."
"You sure about that? Looks like a lot longer."
"Feels longer. She won't get away this time. I'm going to marry her. It's not official." Smiling now, he added, "But, this will be the last time she's ever engaged."
He shared a chair with Rose as they watched the antics of the people they loved. Several anti-nuclear families were in the mix—himself, raised by his uncle, Rose by a stepdad. All of them were closer than most four-square families. Blood wasn't always thicker than water, he mused.
Children gathered for the fireworks, orchestrated by Duncan, of course. They squeezed in chairs by twos and threes. A small handful of them waited in the hammock underneath the deck. He realized it was time for the next generation to take over that spot. Just as it was time for him and his Rose to move on and make their own family. He thought of the right time and place to ask her as she waved her hand in front of his face.
"Whoa. Come back to me."
He smiled at her and pulled her close in the oversized lounge chair. "Always."
* * *
Cynthia worked in Northridge's favorite coffee shop. She was twenty-nine and lamented about still working the Fourth of July shift, turning thirty soon and yet to be married. Although she didn't mind being single. It was her two older sisters, and ugh, her mother. If she had to go on one more blind date, she was moving to Montana.
As she locked up, she thought of ideas on how to get out of her birthday party. She could say she was sick or that she wanted to have a quiet evening with family. Sorting through her keys as she walked, she found the one for her Camry just as she saw him coming from the corner of her eye.
Fear gripped her. This couldn't be happening. Think, think, think. Fumbling for her pepper spray, she turned to defend herself seconds too late. It went flying along with her keys as the man grabbed for her throat. He was disgusting, with faint lines of black hair dye dripping down with his sweat. She couldn't scream beneath his tight grip, could barely choke out words.
Her eyes bulged at the look of the fresh wound on his neck. Eyes darting, her efforts not to panic were fruitless.
"I have money," she breathed. "Credit cards. They're yours." Through fear and pain, she held out her purse.
The man looked around as he pulled out a knife, spun her around and led her toward a clump of trees. "I don't want your fucking money."
Chapter 23
Dave stood over the body, barking out orders. The ground was damp, and with the lack of grass in the heavily wooded area, it was an effort to preserve the scene. The coroner worked with his assistant, taking his dozens of photos from every angle. The CSI had finished her preliminary dusting and was working on the details at that time. The few pieces of evidence were photographed, recorded, bagged, and replaced with corresponding lettered markers.
The woman's handbag had been discarded several yards from the body and between the location they'd found her and her car. Dave ordered a rookie who looked especially green to take more pictures of the surrounding evidence locations before he lost it and contaminated the whole damned place.
Dave stepped away for a moment, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the scent of musty dirt, damp leaves and new plastic from the evidence bags. This was his doing, Dave knew it. The woman had been raped and beaten to death by hands that had been on his Amanda.
The
officer first called to the scene sat on the back bumper of the ambulance, drinking bottled water while he waited for Dave to question him. Anxious to get to him, Dave was careful to follow protocol.
Pulling out his old-school mini-cassette player, he pressed record. "Victim identified as a Cynthia Coleman, age twenty-nine. She lies approximately one hundred to a hundred-twenty-five feet from the road. Sprawled on top of the dirt and leaves, on her back, between clustered, young trees in a heavily wooded area. Partially clothed with skirt raised, exposing bruising on thighs. Underwear found torn in close proximity to victim labeled as evidence exhibit A. Face heavily battered and listed as probable cause of death. Likely sexual assault determined by both coroner and myself. Purse approximately thirty feet from victim, labeled as evidence exhibit B. Cash and credit cards remain. Victim found approximately forty yards from her vehicle." He looked toward the street. "CSI finishing up with dusting for prints as I speak. Worked at Java Java. Allegedly closed the shop alone last evening. Waiting to confirm with manager as only the owner available at this time of night. We haven't located next of kin as of the time of this recording."
This was no coincidence. He'd been here. It was nearly more than Dave could take. The woman lay spread out and unnaturally twisted with brown eyes frozen wide in death. He guessed she had been dead between four and six hours but would wait for the coroner to confirm before entering it into his voice recording. She'd tried to use pepper spray. It ended up five yards to the back of her vehicle. Dave played the scene through in his head. She would have come from the south, heading for the driver's side of her Camry. From the location the pepper spray was discarded, that would make the assailant left handed.
"Are we synced on preliminary cause of death?" Dave studied the lab tech taking dimensions of a shoe print as he spoke to the coroner.
"Bruising and tears around vaginal opening consistent with forced penetration. And, yes, we are in agreement that the preliminary cause of death is blunt force trauma to the head."
