Held by You

by Cheyenne McCray

  But Hollie wasn’t just any woman.

  He blew out his breath as he reached the trailer and a beat-up old Ford club cab truck parked out front that belonged to Carl Whitfield, one of Hollie’s stepbrothers. Freddy Victors’ newer truck was next to it.

  Freddy was sitting on the porch with Carl. Both Freddy and Carl were sitting on shabby lawn chairs beneath the mobile home’s tattered and faded green awning. They wore jackets, ball caps, and work boots. Carl had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, presumably to keep them warm. John didn’t plan to take any chances that Carl wasn’t keeping a weapon in his jacket pocket.

  John parked and shut off the engine before climbing out of the vehicle, his gaze remaining focused on the two rednecks. Reese and Carter pulled up in their car, parked, and got out of their vehicles, too. John had already started toward the men, the detectives following him.

  Freddy had always been a cocky sonofabitch with a permanent sneer on his average face. He had straight light-brown hair that was barely visible with the John Deere cap on his head. His eyes were muddy brown, his skin littered with pockmarks from having had chicken pox as an adult.

  Carl, on the other hand, was considered the pretty boy of the brothers, which wasn’t saying much. Blond-haired and blue-eyed, Carl had a darkness in his gaze that reflected something sick inside of him.

  Disgust for the Whitfield brothers and Freddy Victors was something John had to work hard at holding back. From the time they were kids, Freddy and the Whitfields had been bullies and nothing but trouble. As pre-teens they’d been accused of stealing bikes, toys, and other items. They’d also been suspected of mutilating and killing small animals but had never been caught in the act.

  When they were teenagers, Freddy and the Whitfields had been arrested for underage drinking and for possession of illegal substances. They’d broken into homes, stealing whatever they could. Eventually they’d been arrested, tried, and convicted as juveniles for the thefts, and sent to the juvenile detention center more than once. Of course those records were sealed, but John was the same age as the oldest Whitfield brother, Floyd, and knew firsthand how rotten the brothers were.

  As adults the Whitfield brothers had been arrested for disturbing the peace, carrying a gun without a permit, and had done some time for narcotics possession.

  Unlike the Whitfields, somehow Freddy had avoided getting caught and prosecuted for the same acts, which was how he managed to get a gun permit. John knew with everything he had that Freddy had been just as guilty as the Whitfields in their past misdeeds, but Freddy had never been convicted.

  John ground his teeth as he approached the two men sitting outside the trailer. He couldn’t stand men like the Whitfields and Freddy. One of these days, if they were indeed guilty of murder, the men would land in the penitentiary. John would see to it.

  He reached the men as Freddy gave a broad grin. “Hi, Officer. What brings you around here?”

  John would have liked to punch the grin right off of Freddy’s face, but schooled his expression. “Where have you been this morning?”

  “Right here with good ol’ Carl.” The grin didn’t leave Freddy’s face. “We haven’t left the place. So what’s the problem, Officer?”

  “Your neighbors can corroborate that you’ve been sitting in front of your trailer all morning?” John asked.

  Freddy shrugged. “We were inside a while.”

  John walked to the closest truck, Victor’s newer white Ford, which had a rifle and a shotgun in the gun racks in the window of the cab. John set his palm on the hood that was warm to the touch despite the December chill in the air. He focused his gaze on Carl, who appeared to be having a harder time than Freddy looking at ease.

  “Someone’s been driving this truck.” John removed his hand from the surface. “Want to try telling me your story again?”

  A flash of something crossed Freddy’s face but his smile broadened. “Carl here ran to that mart on the corner.”

  “You said both of you haven’t left the place,” John said. “You’re changing your story?”

  Freddy kept grinning. “It was only a quick run.”

  John turned his gaze on Carl. “What did you buy?”

  Uncertainty glinted in Carl’s gaze. “Uh—”

  “A six-pack.” Freddy inclined his head toward the trailer. “It’s in the fridge.”

  “I didn’t ask you.” John gave Freddy a hard look before he turned his gaze back on Carl. “What did you buy, Carl?”

  “Like Freddy said.” Carl shifted in his seat. “Beer.”

  “We’ll have the surveillance videos checked.” John watched both Carl and Freddy and neither seemed concerned. Likely they knew that the little mart didn’t have surveillance cameras. They’d been shot out not long ago and the owners of the mart hadn’t had the money to have them replaced.

  John had already seen Freddy’s gun permit when he’d been questioned about Juan Perez’s murder, so he didn’t ask to see it again.

  “We’re going to need you to come down to the station.” Reese nodded toward John’s cruiser. “We have more questions for you.”

  Freddy’s smirk stayed. “You haven’t said what this is about, stubby,” he said, clearly referring to Reese’s hand.

  “That’s Detective McBride to you,” Carter said, his deep voice holding a hint of danger.

  John managed not to growl and instead hardened his gaze.

  Reese didn’t appear to have noticed or cared about the slight in regards to his missing fingers. “We’ll tell you all about it at the station.”

  Freddy and Carl didn’t move. “You’ve got no reason to take us in.”

  “You’re coming with us, in handcuffs or not, it doesn’t matter,” John said. “You decide.”

  “Whatever you want.” Freddy pushed himself up from his porch seat, Carl following his lead. John gave a nod toward his cruiser and the pair headed toward it.

  As a precaution, Freddy and Carl were both patted down. Both had pocketknives, which John confiscated for the time being, but no other weapons. The entire time, Freddy made wiseass remarks.

  John ground his teeth and said nothing as he opened the back door to the cruiser and the men scooted inside. John shut the door firmly behind them before climbing into the front seat. He backed up the vehicle and during the short distance to the station he ignored Freddy’s questions as to why they were being taken in.

  Once they were inside the station, Freddy and Carl were placed in separate interview rooms. John watched through the one-way glass as Reese and Carter interviewed Freddy. The man maintained that he’d been at his trailer and didn’t know anything about the murder of Rudy Garcia. The whole time Freddy acted like it was a big joke. It was probably a good thing that it was Reese and Carter doing the interviewing because John wanted to knock the shit eating grin right off Freddy’s face.

  The interview with Carl Whitfield went similarly to Freddy’s. Carl was clearly nervous about something, but kept to the same story as Freddy had. John was surprised at Carl’s nervousness this time around. Usually he was unshakeable, but this time something was different. Something had changed in the dynamic between Freddy and Carl.

  At the end of each interview, Reese told the men, individually, that they would remain at the station for further questioning. Freddy had scowled, the first crack in the mask of amusement he’d been wearing ever since John had driven up to the man’s trailer.

  John watched as the men were taken away to separate holding cells. Reese and Carter walked into the observation room.

  “What do you think?” Reese asked John.

  John shook his head. “They’re full of shit and Freddy is a good actor but he was definitely hiding something. Carl looked close to cracking.”

  Reese nodded. “Maybe a little more time in the holding cell will convince him to talk.”

  “He’s been in that position too many times over the years,” John said. “Frankly, I’m not sure it’s going to matter. We n
eed to get something on them and get it now.”

  Reese nodded as he folded his arms across his chest. “Damn it. Whatever it takes. We will not let these sonofabitches get away with murder.”

  Chapter 3

  Hollie finished doling out the holiday cookies in star, bell, tree, stocking, and wreath shapes. The cookies were frosted with red and green icing along with red, green, and white sprinkles. She had two Jewish students to whom she gave blue and white cookies decorated with menorahs.

  “Thank you, Miss Simmons,” the students chimed as they were each given a cookie.

  She smiled, as the kindergarteners bit into the most delicious sugar cookies Hollie had ever tasted. Ricki’s bakery was one of the best things that had happened to Prescott as far as Hollie was concerned. She sighed and resisted patting her belly. It was true that she enjoyed sweets a little too much.

  Thoughts of her stepbrothers’ remarks about her generous figure made her stomach clench. Every time she was around Floyd, Dickey, and Carl, they made comments about her appearance and were cruel in their remarks. They were the only family she had, but truth be told, she wouldn’t have minded never seeing them again.

  Unfortunately, they lived with her on the ranch she’d inherited from her father. She’d been named her father’s sole heir. In the will, her three stepbrothers had received sums of fifty thousand dollars each, which they promptly squandered away somehow. She didn’t really want to know what they did with their money.

  They made constant jibes about her being the favorite and that she should split the ranch with them. Hollie had steadfastly refused—it had been the one thing she’d been able to remain strong about. The ranch had been in the Simmons family for generations and she wasn’t going to let her stepbrothers ruin it and sell it off. It was the only time she’d been able to say no to her stepbrothers.

  It wasn’t a working ranch anymore, but she hoped that one day it would be again.

  And then there was their friend, Freddy, who was always around. He made frequent sexual remarks to her, and just thinking about them made her shudder.

  She pushed thoughts of Freddy aside. Why ruin a perfectly good day?

  As the kids ate their cookies, she thought about her mother and felt an ache in her chest. Her mother, Marilyn, had been a southern belle who had taught Hollie to be gentle and loving, and somewhat prim and proper. Hollie knew that her mother had been her father’s only true love. It was two years after Marilyn had been killed in a car accident that Hollie’s father, Joe Simmons, had married Betty Whitfield. He seemed to have been under the impression that Hollie needed a mother figure around.

  Hollie would have been better off without a female influence when it came to having Betty Whitfield as a stepmother and her three sons as stepbrothers. Hollie had grown up feeling something like Cinderella but with three stepbrothers rather than stepsisters. She was still waiting for her fairy godmother, crystal slippers, and prince.

  Inwardly Hollie sighed. When her father had been killed in a freak accident, she’d felt like her whole world was crumbling. Betty had become more and more vicious in her attacks on Hollie, and she’d had nowhere to escape.

  A chain smoker, Betty had died from lung cancer. Her passing had been a relief to Hollie, if she was honest with herself. And she was almost always honest with herself. She felt some shame for feeling that way about a human life, even one as despicable as Betty, but she couldn’t help it.

  The feeling of being set free came to a resounding halt when Hollie’s brothers took over where their mother had left off. They’d thought they would inherit the ranch, not knowing that Betty had signed a prenuptial agreement that left the ranch to Hollie.

  Hollie stood straighter. None of that mattered now. The important things in her life were her job and her students, who were like her own children.

  In her jeans’ pocket her phone vibrated, but she ignored it. She never answered her phone until school was out.

  She glanced at the clock to see that the school day was almost over and turned her attention to the students. “Time to get your things together. Don’t forget the Christmas cards and gifts you made for your families. When you’re ready, line up at the door.”

  The room was filled with scuffling noises and chatter as the students pulled on jackets and gathered their things. Soon they were lined up, ready for Hollie to walk them to the buses and parent pickup.

  She led them down the hallway that was decorated with red and green handmade decorations for the holidays. As they walked outside, a chilly breeze made Hollie break out in goose bumps beneath her light blue holiday sweater with its big snowman wearing a Santa hat. At the end of the hat was a fluffy white ball along with smaller green balls for buttons on the snowman’s chest. The sweater wasn’t enough against the chill and she rubbed her arms, regretting having forgotten to wear her own jacket.

  As her students met with their parents or climbed into school buses, they waved at Hollie and called out with farewells of “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Holidays.” She waved in return and smiled at the children.

  When the kids were safely taken care of, Hollie shivered as she walked back to her classroom. Her phone vibrated again and she pulled it out of her pocket and checked the caller ID. Her stomach dropped as she recognized the number that had appeared on the phone’s screen too many times in the past. It was the number of the police department. Likely one of her stepbrothers was in trouble again and needed her to pick him up or bail him out. She prayed it wasn’t to bail one of them out. They were going through her savings way too often.

  She considered ignoring the call, but a spark of hope went through her that maybe it was John McBride and not her brothers. She answered the phone with a hopeful, “Hello?”

  “Why didn’t you answer before?” came Carl’s surly voice and Hollie’s stomach dropped. “Need you to pick me and Freddy up at the police station.”

  Not Freddy. She couldn’t stand Freddy and his lewd comments and the way he looked at her. She hated his influence on her stepbrothers. They were bad enough without Freddy around.

  She bit her lip. She wanted to say an emphatic “NO” to Carl and tell him to find another ride. “Why can’t Floyd or Dickey pick you up?” she said.

  “They’re busy.” A sneer was in Carl’s voice.

  She walked from the cold outdoors into the warm building where her classroom was. “I’ve got things to do, Carl.” She did her best to sound firm.

  “I need you to pick up me and Freddy,” Carl said in a nasty tone. “Hurry and get your fat ass down here or you’ll regret it.” He disconnected the call.

  She slowly lowered the phone, her face hot, the backs of her eyes prickling. Truth was, she was afraid of her stepbrothers. She couldn’t trust them and she was afraid they might hurt her or somehow get her involved in whatever terrible things they might be up to. They’d made threats in the past and she didn’t trust them at all. She wasn’t sure what they were capable of.

  Heart thumping, face still burning, she shoved the phone into her pocket and walked into her classroom. She slipped on her coat and gathered her purse, as well as other things she needed to take home. She shut off the light and walked out into the hallway, and locked the classroom door behind her.

  The entire drive to the police station, she cursed herself for her fear of her stepbrothers. She didn’t know what would happen if she stood up to them again. The times she had stood up to them in the past, her cat mysteriously disappeared, all of her dishes had been broken, and one of her tires had been slashed, among other things.

  The worst incident as an adult was when Floyd had shaken her so hard her neck hurt, her head ached, and he’d left bruises on her upper arms. He’d been livid at the time and she’d been terrified, more than anytime before. From the gleam of hatred in his eyes, she’d been so sure he had been about to strike her. Instead, he’d shoved her away from him and she would have fallen if a wall hadn’t been behind her. Her head had struck the wall, hard, and she’
d seen stars.

  As she drove, she chewed one of her nails, a habit she’d acquired since Floyd, Carl, and Dickey had been brought into the family. The faces they’d shown her father had been so different than the way they were in reality.

  When she arrived at the police station, she parked, got out and locked the doors, and headed inside. She prayed she wouldn’t see John McBride. She wasn’t sure she could take the embarrassment.

  Freddy and Carl were waiting when she walked inside. Both men scowled at her.

  “Why the fuck did you take so long?” Carl said.

  “I got here as fast as I could.” She hated how small her voice sounded and how she felt she had to defend herself.

  Freddy jerked his head toward the front doors. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Before they could take a step, John McBride walked through the station’s entrance. Hollie’s chest hurt at the hard look on his features as he took in Freddy, Carl, and her.

  “Hi, Officer,” Freddy said with a broad grin.

  Lieutenant McBride’s brows narrowed, but he passed them without saying a word.

  Hollie’s spirits sank even further. Was it just this morning that he’d saved her from a fall and had given her a smile?

  Feeling a lot like Cinderella must have, Hollie followed Carl and Freddy outside. When she unlocked the car, Carl snatched the keys from her. “Get in the backseat, fat ass.”

  A flash of anger caused Hollie to grit her teeth but she opened up the rear passenger door, slid onto the seat, and buckled herself in. She had expected Carl to take the keys because they never let her drive. She hated the way every one of her stepbrothers drove, not to mention Freddy, one of the many reasons why she didn’t like to pick them up. The way they sped and swerved everywhere, they were bound to get someone killed and she didn’t want to be a victim of their recklessness.

  Carl drove to Freddy’s trailer on the south side of town where their trucks were parked. Hollie let out a breath of relief that they’d made it and soon she could part company with them and be on her way.