I trace her jawline with my thumb, searching her eyes for the slightest sign of pain. “Where’s your helmet, Karlie?” I’m beyond pissed—she knows better.
“I didn’t have time to put it on.”
“Why?”
She eyeballs Connor, who’s standing a few feet off to the side. “He was trying to tap you,” she says. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
She risked her life to save me? I stand, glaring at Connor. “Bad habit of yours?” I ask, closing the distance between us. I punch him in the mouth. “Next time, I’ll break your neck.”
“Fuck you.” He staggers back, his bottom lip bleeding.
If Karlie weren’t here…I spit on the ground near his feet, praying he challenges me. When he doesn’t, I return to Karlie. I bend down, sweeping her into my arms. “Let’s go.” She loops her arms around my neck and I carry her to the RV, intent on stripping off her leather to check her head to toe for any injuries. She’s too tiny, too goddamn fragile, to put her body at risk like this.
I stomp into the bedroom and gently lower her onto the queen-size bed. Her head hits the pillows. The first thing I want to do is throttle some sense into her. “Never ride without a helmet. Understand?”
She nods, her bottom lip quivering.
I kneel on the edge of the mattress, regretting my harsh tone. “You scared me, Karlie.”
She stares up at me. “I scared myself.”
Good—it means she won’t make the same mistake again. “Let’s get you undressed.” I unzip her jacket; she’s wearing a white cotton T-shirt without a bra underneath. She raises up on her elbows, letting me slide her jacket off. Then I remove her boots and leather pants. She’s lucky there are Multitech protectors in the shoulders, elbows, and knees of her race suit. It saved her flawless skin—all I see is a little road rash on her left hip. I open a drawer in the nightstand next to the bed and take out a small flashlight. “Let me check your pupil dilation, make sure you don’t have a concussion.” I shine the light in her right eye first, then the left. Normal, thank God. “Need anything?”
“No.”
“I’m going to get our bikes. When I’m done loading everything, we’ll go home.”
“I want to stay the night still.”
She’s playing tough and there’s no reason for it. “You need a hot bath, massage, ibuprofen, and some sleep. You’re going to be sore tomorrow.”
“What about Connor?” she asks. “How did he know we’d be here?”
Pure coincidence, I hope. But I can’t be sure yet. “I don’t know, Karlie. We’ll talk about it later.”
I step into the hallway, then close the bedroom door. Adrenaline pumps through me. I still want to kill that bastard. Every time I see him or hear his name, something snaps inside me. Punching him felt too good. I take a deep breath, shoving my fury down deep. She’s all I’ve been able to think about, every minute of every day, since the night we met.
Then it hits me: I’m in love with Karlie Augustine.
Chapter 20
After giving Karlie another dose of ibuprofen, I leave early for work Monday morning. Her body is one big knot, so she’s taking the next couple of days off from school. I leave her a note and my personal cell phone. I’m taking her iPhone and laptop to the computer forensics lab to check for spyware. It’s the only way I can explain how Connor knew where we were. It’s a violation of U.S. federal law and state statutes to install surveillance software on any device without notifying the user. And since Connor doesn’t own her stuff, he’s broken several laws if I’m right.
The Uniform Patrol Division is divided into four separate patrol districts. I work in Bravo District, which includes Padre Island. Pulling into the parking lot, I grab my duffel bag and head inside. I shake hands with Officers Delgado and Bergson as they pass me in the hallway. Entering the locker room, I head straight to the back and notice Craig is already here, getting dressed for duty.
“Haven’t heard from you in a week,” he says, tying his bootlace.
I place my bag on the nearest bench and unzip it. “Been really busy, sorry. Dinner Sunday?”
He stares at me for a long minute. “With or without—”
“She’s not going anywhere, Craig. Get over it.”
“Already told you it’s not about Karlie. It’s the company she keeps.”
“Kept,” I correct.
He gazes at the pink laptop. “New computer?”
I grin. “Belongs to Karlie.” I share my concerns. “Think I’m paranoid?”
“No,” he says on a huff. “But it validates my concern.”
Son of a bitch always needs to be right. I stash my bag, then take the elevator downstairs to the lab. I approach my favorite technician, Alejandro Sanchez. We’ve worked a couple of cases together over the years; CCPD provides support for some of the smaller departments across South Texas. As we shake hands, I can tell by the look he’s giving me that he’s wondering what the heck brought me to his office.
“Stopping by to shoot the shit?” he asks.
“Actually,” I say, offering the computer and cell, “this is personal—I think my girlfriend’s ex is keeping track of her.”
“I love cyber stalkers,” he comments, shaking his head, then quickly runs a diagnostic analysis of the phone. Within five minutes, he has an answer. “There are all kinds of sophisticated software out there. In this case, it appears he’s utilizing an online service—the company is based in Europe. Although there’s a crap load of disclaimers on the website explaining it’s illegal for people to use this type of spyware in the U.S., it doesn’t stop anyone. The customer can see text messages, call history and contact lists, emails, website browsing history and bookmarks, has access to photos and videos and GPS location. I’ll uninstall the software and fix it so the bastard can’t track anything again.”
“Thanks.” We fist-bump and I head to my patrol car.
I wish knowing Connor can’t track Karlie’s movements anymore took care of the rage. It doesn’t. There’s something about him that makes me crazy.
My cell vibrates the second I fire up the engine. It’s a text message from Karlie.
Good morning sunshine.
I smile.
Feeling better?
Yes. Why’d you take my phone?
Checking for spyware, computer too.
Really?
I’ll explain after I get home. K?
WYWH.
I tuck my phone in my shirt pocket and take off. Twenty minutes into my shift, dispatch calls for backup at a location off Ocean Drive.
“10-53, 10-54, 10-72. Possible shooting victim on scene. Suspect took off on foot, supposedly bleeding and intoxicated. Possibly armed with a gun. White male, mid-thirties, wearing jeans and a yellow jacket. Check with complainant to see if she was assaulted…” dispatch sounds over the radio.
“18, 10-8, on my way,” I reply. “10-4.”
I turn my lights and siren on, racing to the corner of Airline Road and South Alameda Street. Another glorious day on the south side. With the second oil boom, Corpus has expanded. We have a growing population of transients and violent criminals plaguing the city.
I pull into the strip mall, parking behind another squad car with flashing lights on. I kill the siren and climb out; paramedics are on the scene already.
Officer Brown greets me. “Victim one is in stable condition and on his way to the hospital,” he informs me. “The perp shot him in the left thigh after he attempted to break up a physical altercation with the second victim. The business owner is inside waiting to finish her report.”
“And the suspect?”
He points to the ambulance. “Broken hand and nose.”
I shake my head as I cross the parking lot. Goddamn gun violence pisses me off. Makes me think more about getting Karlie a concealed weapon permit. Not that I condone anyone carrying without knowing how to properly operate a weapon and understanding the privilege. I open the glass door and step inside the boutique
. Another officer is standing with the complainant, consoling her. Her left eye is swollen shut and there’s a nasty gash on her cheek.
“Ms. Lee,” the female officer says. “This is Sergeant Lafontaine. He’s going to finish taking your statement. If you need anything, I’ll be outside.”
The victim wipes her nose with a bloodstained tissue, her hands shaking. “Thank you.”
The officer smiles, then leaves. I reach in my back pocket and pull out a handkerchief. “Here.” I offer it to Ms. Lee. She smiles. “Take your time. Do you want a glass of water? Anyone I can call?”
She nods. “My son—please call my son.”
I take my cell phone out. “What’s the number, ma’am?”
—
Since Lucas confiscated my computer, I head to his office upstairs to check email and Facebook. I log in and find an announcement from the board of trustees for the track. Post-season race day is scheduled for November 15, two weeks away. Of course Powder Puff isn’t included on the schedule. In fact, only two divisions are listed; Lucas and Connor compete in both.
The bastard can’t live with the fact that my boyfriend bested him on Saturday. Connor is dangerous with his ego this shattered and frail. This is his way of seeking revenge. And I know what he wants to do; with twenty racers on the track, no one will see him cheat. Illegal hits should be reserved for football. I catch up on emails and post an update before logging out. If I know Brandon, he’ll sign up too. Because Lucas is new to our club, he needs all the support he can get out there. Maybe his cousin can attend.
If I had the experience to compete, I’d tuck my hair in a helmet, pretend to be a guy, and sign up just to keep Lucas safe. But I don’t; I proved that on Saturday. Now Lucas is adamantly opposed to me racing again until I brush up on my basic riding skills. Like doing donuts in a field for hours and hours. That’s what new flat-trackers do—believe me, I’ve witnessed it firsthand. I tried arguing—there are those who crash and those who are going to crash. It earned me a head shake and a big fat no.
Before I go downstairs, I check Lucas’s laundry basket in his bathroom. There’s enough for a load, so I grab it. On my way out, I freeze in front of his dresser. The silver frame containing a picture of his ex-wife and son has been replaced with a picture of Alex alone. Whether Lucas knows it or not, I’m listening loud and clear. No words could please me more. Now I know that Lucas isn’t in love with Willow. Or he’s ready to move forward, at least.
After I start the washer, someone knocks on the front door. I look through the peephole. Marie flips me off and I open the door.
“Nice,” I say, stepping aside so she can come in. “Thought you had a big report due today.”
“I did,” she says. “Turned it in and told my professor to fuck off.”
I roll my eyes. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Eight inches.”
“Good God, Marie.” I can’t believe her sometimes. “TMI.”
She laughs. “How’s the noggin?”
“Fine,” I answer. “My back is better, too.”
“Good.” She hugs me. “Let’s go swimming.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
I sigh—there goes my plan to read all morning. “I’ll get my swimsuit on.” I pad to my bedroom and dig through my drawers, finally finding my favorite red bikini.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re soaking in the hot tub.
“Life is good,” she says, letting out a rush of air. “So tell me—what’s happening with supercop? You’ve been pretty secretive, girlie. I want the old Karlie back.”
I can’t deny it. As of a few weeks ago, I’d call Marie if anything happened. Now, I rely more on myself and Lucas. “She’s still in here.” I point to my heart. Marie is the sister I’ve always wanted, my BFF. “I don’t know where this relationship is headed, but even if it doesn’t last, I’ve gained so much spending time with Lucas. He’s kinda restored my faith in men.”
“And Connor?”
“A nightmare. Though you should have seen his face when I was on the ground.”
“I’d rather see it after supercop punched him.”
I giggle, and couldn’t agree more. “Did you get the November fifteenth race announcement?”
She nods. “What’s up with that?”
“I’m sure it has everything to do with Saturday.”
“Maybe we should change your name to Super P.”
I frown, not sure what she means.
“Pussy. You drive men crazy.”
I splash her face. “You’re so dirty.”
She couldn’t be more wrong. Lucas rules my body, not the other way around. Although I’ve gained more confidence because he seems to absolutely worship me, deep down, I’m still the same old Karlie. Nothing lasts. In thirty years I’ll end up a crazy old cat lady featured on the TV show Hoarders.
“Calling it the way I see it.”
“You need glasses.”
“Quit being a doubter. Meeting Lucas wasn’t mere coincidence—everything happens for a reason.”
“I don’t believe in all that new-age crap you’re into. The fact that I’m dating another man so soon after Connor should be proof enough I’m giving life a second chance.”
“Well, let’s test that theory.”
I look at her questioningly.
“The annual Halloween bash. Ready to go costume shopping?”
I’m not sure Lucas will approve of me going to a frat party, a really big one. I’m not even sure I do. Everybody gets shit-faced and naked. “Pass.”
“No you don’t. We’ve been going to campus parties for three years together. I’m a senior now—no excuses. Especially the I-have-a-jealous-boyfriend one.” She lifts mischievous eyes to mine.
“You win.” If I refuse, she’ll nag until I change my mind.
Chapter 21
Lucas gets home by six and dinner is ready. He kisses my cheek as he heads to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “What smells so good?” he asks.
“Wild salmon with pearl couscous, slow-roasted tomatoes, and lemon oregano oil.”
He faces me and I hand him a paper towel to dry his hands with. “Don’t you ever make hot dogs and beans? I hope you never get sick of cooking, or I’d starve.”
He always knows how to make me smile. “Ready?”
We sit together and he tastes the fish. Without a word, he takes a second bite. “Amazing.”
He must have been hungry; his plate is clean before I’m halfway done with my meal. He carefully sets his fork down, then stares at me.
Those dark eyes do something to me, especially when I can’t read his expression. I know we’re still at the new stage, where we watch what we say and do in front of each other. I have a bad habit of saying the wrong thing—but at least I’m always honest. Well, most of the time. When you don’t have a past, there’s not much to tell, let alone hide, so living in the now is the best I can offer. Maybe it’s all he can share, too.
“About Friday night…” he starts.
“Don’t worry about it.” I take a sip of sweet tea.
“Willow has been calling me, nearly every day for a week.”
That gets my full attention. My appetite wanes and I frown. Is this where he tells me they’ve agreed to reconciliation?
“Don’t get upset, Karlie.” He scoots his chair closer. “She alleges her husband is having an affair with his secretary. It doesn’t surprise me.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “I admit I’m upset—whenever I’m reminded of my own failures, I dwell on the past. Sometimes it gets the better of me.”
“Like it did Friday night?” Was he thinking about his ex when he fucked me in his truck?
“What was that?” he asks.
“Excuse me?”
“What were you thinking just then—your forehead wrinkled. And those eyes…” He tilts my chin. “So sad.”
“You really want to know?”
He nods.
“Were you thinki
ng about Willow when we…”
“God no!”
His answer quells the fear inside me somewhat, but I can see he’s suffering.
“If she separates or files for divorce, it nullifies our current custody arrangement. I’d seek full guardianship this time. That could mean several things.”
I think about the photo change upstairs, his quiet way of telling me he cares. But it’s not enough. If he’s going to fight for his son, having a stranger living in his house might affect the decision of the judge. And God forbid Willow finds out; she’ll use that information against him. “You want me to move out?”
His eyebrows rise, then he captures both of my hands, squeezing my wrists. “Move out?” He practically wilts. “Come with me.”
Reluctantly, I push my chair back and get up and he leads me upstairs to his office. Then he opens his bottom desk drawer, takes out a large manila envelope, and offers it to me.
“Should I be afraid?”
“Does the truth frighten you? If it does, don’t bother looking inside.” He murmurs something indiscernible and plops down on a chair, watching me closely.
I glance at the package, curious what’s inside. I want to distance myself from him right now; that little voice inside my head is screaming bloody murder. Nothing lasts. Especially for you. Go while you still possess a shred of dignity and control. That’s the problem: I’m not sure I do. Lucas rules my body and maybe my heart. But my heart is damaged to where nothing lasts except pain and rejection. The Johnsons proved people are disposable. They raised me with their own children and all I get is a Christmas card now—nothing more, nothing less. I’m worth the cost of a postage stamp.
Without thinking, I open the envelope filled with dozens of photographs inside—of me. I pull several out. They are all black-and-white images of me sleeping, standing in the kitchen, talking on the phone, and swimming. Oh. My. God. “You’ve been spying on me?”
He cocks his head. “That’s one way to put it.” He rests his palms on his knees. “I’ve been admiring you, Karlie, memorizing every inch of you. Loving you from a distance.”
I never knew he liked photography, and judging by the high quality of the photos, it’s more than a weekend hobby. “Beautiful.” I’ve never seen myself so relaxed or happy. I actually look pretty, like I’m comfortable. This is how he sees me? I’m touched by his gesture; knowing Lucas paid attention and took the time to capture me in print is wonderful and a little scary at the same time.
Loving Lucas Page 14
