“Isn’t that considered kidnapping?”
“In some states, but it’s very complicated. By the time I located them, she’d already qualified for residency in Minnesota.”
“I’m so sorry; she shouldn’t have done that. It seems like forever since I thought about my early childhood…” She averts her eyes. “I remember praying for a mom and dad of my own.” Then she fiddles with her bracelet, gazing at me. “I’d have given anything to have someone like you fighting for me.”
I’ll fight for you now. “Every day I don’t talk to Alex, the more I worry I’m nothing more than a stranger to him.”
“You can’t let her win.”
“She already has.” I throw my hands up. “I’m still under the microscope because she lied in court, testified I was an alcoholic. She ended up with Alex and I got mandatory counseling.”
“It’s okay,” she says quietly, getting up and coming over to me. She embraces me from behind, pressing her breasts into my back. “I’ll do anything I can to help.”
I turn around, grateful for her support. How did I end up with such an angel? “Anything?” I ask, coming off playful, but not meaning to.
“I promise.” She crosses her heart.
I press my fingertips to her lips, following the curve of her gentle smile. I close my eyes, my heart pounding. “Do you believe in fate?” I ask.
“I know everything happens for a reason.”
“Including us?”
“I don’t think I can answer that,” she says.
“Yes you can.”
Her breathing accelerates. Are those tears in the corners of her beautiful eyes?
“Yes,” she whispers.
I reach out, interlocking my fingers with hers. God, I love the way she feels. Even when only our hands touch, it goes straight to my core. I tug her closer, emotions welling up inside me. She rests her head against my chest and I breathe in her fresh scent—always vanilla, sweet and delicate, vulnerable and trusting. Karlie Augustine is perfect. And I can’t risk losing her or the opportunity to regain custody of my son. Sometimes the universe offers you one chance, a brief opening in the dark clouds that shroud us all. And for once, I’m going to respond instead of wait.
“Karlie,” I murmur against the top of her head.
She peers up at me.
“I-I…” Why can’t I get the words out?
“Are you okay?”
Not really—but she’ll never know that. It gets quiet, too quiet. I’m lost in everything Karlie. I hug her close again. “Marry me.”
Chapter 25
I cling to Lucas, afraid to look up, terrified to acknowledge what he just asked me. Marry him? Marie called it. The idea rolls around in my head like a bowling ball. Wrapped in Lucas’s arms, I feel alive. I have a home. I have love. But that doesn’t mean I’d make a good wife, especially if he wants Alex back. How would we ever explain my past? The one I never had.
“Karlie?”
I pull back, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “Please…”
He drops to his knees, clutching my hand. “As much as I hate to admit it, I’m hooked on your cooking.”
Humor. Smart move, supercop.
“Is that a smile?” he asks.
I nod; he never fails to make me happy. Is it enough? I’ve known him for a month. In his defense, in our defense, it feels as if I’ve loved him forever. And I do love him. I’ve never confessed my innermost feelings to anyone, even to Marie. When she says “love ya,” I say “ditto” or “me too” most of the time.
Lucas smooths his hands down the back of my legs. “Knees, darlin’,” he complains playfully. “I’m an old, decrepit man.”
I roll my eyes. “In whose world?”
“There’s only our world.” He sounds so serious now. “I love you. I want you to be my wife. Share my life and family.”
“Family?” It sounds so foreign to me.
“Of course,” he says, shifting. “My mother and father will adore you.”
He doesn’t understand. I’m not the type of girl who fantasized about getting married when I was young. Oh, I thought about it, promising myself I’d never end up like the Johnsons, who seemed to hate each other by the time I graduated high school. That kind of self-inflicted suffering doesn’t appeal to me. It frightens me like a Stephen King flick. “My expectations probably don’t match your ideas about marriage.”
“What do you mean?” He stands, backing up a few feet.
“I’d expect you to sign a no divorce agreement through my church.”
“Is that it?”
“And if you ever cheat on me…”
“Finished?”
“I want that football team—sooner rather than later. We’re not going to get any younger.”
“Karlie?”
“What if…”
“Karlie,” he half-shouts. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
I nod.
“Then say yes.”
“Yes.”
His chest puffs out as he approaches, his expression a jumble of emotions. “Do you love me?”
I rapidly nod.
“Say it, baby. I need to hear you say it.” He shouldn’t have to plead.
“I-I love you.” My shoulders sag; the effort sucked the air out of my lungs. I feel like I just ran a marathon but can’t find the finish line. Never tell anyone how you feel. Never trust anyone. You’re alone in this world, and the sooner you accept it, the better off you’ll be. Mrs. Johnson’s chilling words have stayed with me, haunted me for years. Why do I feel like I just condemned my soul to hellfire?
Lucas tips my chin. “We’ll piece each other back together. Two halves make one whole. I promise.” He scoops me into his arms and slants his lips over mine.
“I love you.” This time it comes out on a breathy whisper. My insides liquefy when he kisses me so possessively.
“Let’s go practice making quarterbacks.” He carries me upstairs.
—
I meet my cousin at Luby’s cafeteria for dinner on Monday. “Marriage?” Craig blasts, dropping his tray on the table.
“Yes,” I say calmly. “I love her.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t know anything about the girl.”
I pop a fry into my mouth, ignoring his attitude. “Do I need to remind you about Marisela?”
“Goddamnit,” he curses. “There’s nothing remotely similar about how I met my wife. I worked with her sister for years, met her when she was seventeen. You met Karlie on the racetrack, five weeks ago.”
“Keeping count?”
“Someone needs to be paying attention, because you sure as hell aren’t.”
“Why’d you invite me to join the department if you didn’t expect me to start a new life when I moved here?” I’m more than a little disappointed that my cousin can’t accept my decision. “I was busting my ass making Volunteer of the Year while you were chasing tail at The Devil’s Den, banging every dancer that batted an eyelash at you.”
He swallows, staring at me. We’ve always been more like brothers. I value his opinion—but not where Karlie is concerned. I trust my instincts. “I’m inviting my parents here next month. I expect you to join us for dinner.”
“After you blew us off twice?” He frowns.
I seal my lips to keep from laughing. Fatherhood has turned Craig into a cantankerous fool. “I’ve been busy.”
“Sorry if you think I’m being unreasonable,” he says. “Between work, the baby, and Marisela getting morning sickness every day, I’m a mess.”
“I didn’t realize she was having such a hard time. Nothing serious, I hope.”
“Hyperemesis,” he grumbles. “Severe bouts of vomiting that could lead to dehydration and fatigue.”
“Sorry, bro.”
“She’s on a special diet and takes extra vitamins. The baby is fine.”
“Karlie may be able to help with that diet thing.” He gazes at me.
“She’s a gifted c
ook—nearly graduated culinary school. Maybe she could take a look at that diet and see if she can safely spice it up for Marisela.”
“You think she’d do that?”
I chuckle at his sudden interest in my fiancée. “She’s the sweetest girl I’ve ever met. Always willing to please. And I’m sure it would be the perfect opportunity for her to make friends with Marisela.”
His features soften. “Dinner soon? Sounds good.”
I take a couple of bites of my cheeseburger, satisfied that Craig might give Karlie a chance.
Then my police radio crackles. “Unit 18, 10-49, proceed to 5425 SPID, outside H-E-B, 10-51.”
Damn it.
“Want me to respond?” Craig asks.
“No.” I take a swig of iced tea, then pick up my radio. “Unit 18, five minutes out. 10-4.”
“I’ll call tomorrow,” my cousin says and fist-bumps me as I knee my chair in.
A few minutes later I drive under the highway overpass, then pull into the grocery store parking lot, scanning the storefront and walkways. Moore Plaza attracts panhandlers and drunks. I park in the loading zone and hop out of my car. A woman dressed in an H-E-B uniform waves at me.
“Sorry I had to call 911,” she says. “We tried to calm him down, but he’s so drunk. The security officer is sitting with him in my office.”
I follow her inside and down a long tiled hallway. She knocks twice on a closed door and a man wearing a security uniform opens it. I step inside and eye the man slouched in the chair next to the manager’s desk. The room reeks of booze.
“Found him tripping down aisle three,” the security officer says. “He had a handful of grapes.”
I approach the man. “Sir.”
No answer.
“Sir, I’m Sergeant Lafontaine.”
He raises his head, mumbling incoherently. I recognize him, just can’t think from where yet. He’s in no shape to do anything but sleep it off in the drunk tank.
I address the manager. “Want to press charges?”
She considers it, staring at the man. “No,” she says. “But I’ll add his name to our watch list.”
“You have his ID?” I ask.
The security officer hands me a frayed leather wallet. “Steven Augustine.”
I open the billfold and stare at the Texas driver’s license; it’s newly issued. And he’s a dead ringer for the guy I met in the parking lot at Roper’s, the man who made Karlie uncomfortable. I tuck the wallet in my front pocket. “Help me get him to my car?” I ask the guard.
“Sure thing.”
Chapter 26
After Professor Rios finishes his lecture, Charles leans over my desk. I open my folder, then hold it up, using it to block his face. He already attempted to stop me in the hallway, but I walked past him like he didn’t exist. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the bad vibes from the party or forget about his club membership. One thing I’ve learned: choose your friends wisely.
“Karlie,” he says after a stretch of silence. “I admire your principles, but what about not rushing to judgment. Isn’t that something they teach you in politics?”
I lower the folder. “Not in the case of sex scandals.”
“Clinton’s a rock star.” His eyes twinkle.
I roll my eyes, a little laugh escaping my lips. “You’re such a perv,” I say. “I don’t like you very much right now, Charles.”
“Hey,” he says, straightening his spine. “Look how far we’ve gotten in the span of a couple of minutes. You’re actually looking at me and talking to me.”
“I can’t make any promises—but I’m feeling generous today.”
“Why?”
“I’m engaged.”
He stares at my left hand, his shoulders dropping slightly. “Where’s the ring?”
“Don’t have one yet.”
“Congratulations,” he says genuinely. “Lucas is a lucky guy. Tell him I said so.”
Still wrestling with those principles Charles so aptly reminded me of, I reconsider banishing him from my life. He helped me with Connor and has remained a gentleman since he met Lucas. Honestly, I can’t afford to lose a friend—I don’t have many.
“Don’t ever talk to me about your parties,” I warn.
“You might learn something.”
I picture Lucas and me making love. “No,” I assure him. “Got that covered.” I offer my hand. “Try again?”
“Peace.” He shakes my hand gently, and then lets go. “Glad I didn’t give up so easily?”
“I’m happy we’ve reached a tentative agreement.” Then it hits me. “Do you like motorcycles?”
“Didn’t you see the Fat Boy outside the frat house?”
I remember the hot paint job. “Blue flames on the tank?”
He smiles proudly. “Mine.”
“Ever gone to the races?”
“I heard something about you riding, Augustine.”
“I do—but that’s not why I’m asking. There’s a special post-season event on the fifteenth. Wanna go? Lucas is racing.” I’m hoping he’ll invite the basketball team, providing backup if anything happens with Connor.
He pulls out his cell and checks his calendar. “I don’t have any plans. Email the details.”
“That’s it?” I say as he starts to go.
He glimpses over his shoulder. “Were you expecting something else?”
“I-I just…”
“Thought I still wanted to get inside your panties?”
Heat floods my cheeks.
“That won’t change,” he says. “But I know when to back off. I can handle being friends, virgin girl—that’s why I wanted to set things straight with you. I’d never disrespect you, Karlie; I care too much.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond, but strolls out of the classroom, leaving me speechless. I gather my books and shove them into my backpack, trying to keep it together. Sure, he’s a deviant and I’m not finished trying to convince him to stop hosting sex parties, but there’s obviously more to him than the arrogant jock I talked to at the Halloween party. Maybe he was drunk. Sometimes I’m too uptight, sloppy leftovers from a shitty childhood.
Before I leave class, I stare heavenward. “Took one for the team,” I say. “Tolerance and forgiveness is a good thing.”
—
I pull through the Whataburger drive-thru and pick up two cups of black coffee and a bacon, cheese, and egg taquito. I’m not ready to drop Mr. Augustine off at the precinct yet. I park behind the restaurant and climb out of my car, setting our drinks on the ground. I open the back door, uncuff his right wrist, and hook him to one of the safety bars between the seats.
“Thirsty, Mr. Augustine?”
He’s more alert now and stares up at me. “Yeah.”
I offer him one of the Styrofoam cups. He lifts it to his lips, his hand shaking. After he takes a couple of swigs, he looks at me again.
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
“I’ve been where you are before,” I admit.
“Bullshit,” he says, eyeing the shield pinned to my chest. “I’m an ex-con.”
“I know, but I’ve gotten drunk a few times.”
“Ran a background check on me yet?”
“No.” If I do, I have to transfer him to lockup. Depending on how cooperative he is, this might be his lucky day. “Sixth sense.”
He gulps the coffee.
“Hungry?” I ask.
“Are you a fucking cop or Pope Francis?”
“Maybe a little bit of both right now.” I reach up front and grab the taquito.
He unwraps it and finishes it in three bites, then uses his sleeve as a napkin. “Thank you.”
I nod, pleased he’s lucid enough to have a conversation. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Did twenty years in the Ham,” he says, referring to Eastham Prison in unincorporated Houston County. “Manslaughter. Might as well get the foreplay over with if we’re going to get personal, sweetheart.�
��
I chuckle. “Are you in full compliance with all the conditions of your parole?”
“Checked in with my PO last week.”
“Does he know you have a chemical dependency problem?”
“I’ve been out three weeks—not enough time for me to be an alcoholic. But I’m fucking working on it.”
“What’s your full name?”
“Steven Byron Augustine.”
“Where are you from, Mr. Augustine?”
“Abilene.”
There are a hundred questions running through my head, and I want answers. “Did you grow up in Abilene?”
“Moved to Corpus in 1975—attended Ray High School—played football and partied.”
“Do you have any family in the area?”
He frowns. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”
“Please answer.”
“My sister and her husband.”
“Where do you reside?”
“I rent a studio apartment off the garage at my sister’s house.”
“At the same address listed on your driver’s license?”
He groans. “Yeah.”
“Ever been married, Mr. Augustine?”
“I don’t like this fucking game.” He kicks his feet.
“If you cooperate,” I say, “I’ll take you home and you can sleep it off there.”
“You’re not taking me to lockup?”
“Depends on you. I haven’t called in yet.”
He rubs his chin. “I’m a widower.”
“When did your wife pass?”
His face is as hard as stone, his blue eyes bloodshot and puffy. “The bitch didn’t pass; I slit her throat.”
Although the confession hits me hard, I need to appear neutral. “What year?”
“1993.”
“Do you have any children?”
His eyes narrow and he takes a deep breath. “None of your business.”
“Do you have a daughter named Karlie?”
His eyebrows jump, his jaw set in a hard line.
“I need to know, Mr. Augustine. She deserves the truth.”
He groans, then sobs uncontrollably. I reach in my back pocket and pull out my handkerchief, offering it to him. He accepts it and blows his nose. After he finishes, he tries to give it back to me.
Loving Lucas Page 17
