by Nikkie Locke
“Give me a hug before you go,” Ryan said.
She hugged him tightly. “I’m calling Ryleigh tonight. Want me to tell her anything for you?”
“Tell her I said to pick up the phone and call her dad once in a while.”
She laughed. “I’ll do that.”
She started for the door. Dean caught her hand and held it in his. Hand-in-hand, they headed out the door and back toward the diner.
Chapter Ten
It was five o’clock before Smith made it to the diner. Her sister came in with her. Payten watched them as they took a seat at a booth in the corner farthest away from the round table. She walked out around the counter and toward their booth.
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
“You must be Officer Smith’s sister,” Payten said.
“That’s me,” she answered. “I’m Devin. Devin Chase.”
“It’s good to meet you, Officer Chase.”
“Please, Devin or Chase is fine.”
“I’ll try to remember that. What can I get you to drink?”
“Coffee,” Smith said.
“Do you have tea?” asked Chase.
“We do,” Payten answered. “Sweet and unsweetened iced tea or hot tea. Whatever you’d like.”
“How about some unsweetened iced tea?”
“No problem. I’ll go get you guys those drinks and some menus and be right back.”
Payten moved to the round table. “You guys need a warm-up?”
Jonah, Kalvin, Jack, and Burke sat around the table. Dean sat with them, drinking a cup of coffee. He had finished cooking the men’s dinners and had come out from the back to talk to them.
“I think they’re good,” Dean told her. He started to get up.
“Don’t get up. I’ll take care of them.”
“You sure?”
She smiled. “Look around. It’s not exactly busy.” Other than the men, Smith and Chase were the only people in the diner. Even her parents had gone home after she and Dean arrived that afternoon to take over.
“You’ve got a point.”
She went to the kitchen. When she came back out a few minutes later, she had two menus under her arm and Chase’s tea. She set the tea on their table along with the menus. She grabbed a coffee cup from the stand by the coffee. She filled the cup and took it to their booth.
“Grab a seat,” Smith offered.
“Thanks,” Payten said, taking her up on the offer.
Chase pored over her menu while stirring her tea gently.
“Did you find anything out?” Payten asked.
“Yes, I did.”
Chase peeked over the top of her menu. “Do you want me to leave?”
Payten shook her head. “It’s fine.”
“Well, then, on to the goodies,” Smith said. “I talked to the phone company. The loser called fifteen times in three days, and you didn’t think it might be serious?”
Payten shrugged.
“I’d say it’s serious,” Smith told her. “I talked to the phone company. They’ve blocked the number for you.”
“That means they can’t call anymore, right?”
“Maybe,” Smith said. She paused to take a drink of her coffee. “I had a friend look up the number. It’s a disposable cell phone.”
“So they could just go get another?” Payten asked.
“Twenty bucks at your nearest Walmart,” Smith said, then frowned. “Where is the nearest Walmart?”
Chase peeked over her menu, again. She sighed.
“Dylan isn’t good at breaking news gently,” she said. “In fact, unless it’s on the job, she’s quite horrible at it. Whoever is calling you might call using a different number. Or they may decide it isn’t worth the trouble.”
“If it’s kids, it’ll probably stop. If it’s more serious, they’ll call again,” Smith warned.
“You are horrible at sugarcoating it,” Payten decided. She stood up. “What can I get you guys to eat?”
“What’s good?” Smith asked.
“How does a bacon cheeseburger with French fries sound?”
Smith whimpered. “Amazing. Please.”
She smiled. “Done. And, for you?”
“I think I’ll have a chicken salad, please.”
“Yuck,” Smith complained.
“It’s not for you,” Chase told her.
Payten grinned. “I’ll have those out to you in a bit. By the way, Officer Smith, I made cake for you. Chocolate.”
Smith whimpered again. “I love this town.”
Payten laughed.
“Payten,” Smith said when she started to walk away.
She turned around.
“If they call back, you need to call us,” Smith said.
“But — ”
“No buts,” Chase told her. “If they call you, call the station.”
Payten nodded. “All right.”
• • •
Payten waited for Dean at the back door of the diner. It was only quarter after six, but with the slow evening, cleaning up hadn’t taken long.
“All locked up,” he told her as he came around the corner.
“Great.”
She waited for him to say more while he put his coat on. She thought he would want to talk about their date the next day. They both had the day off. She waited, but he didn’t say anything.
“So?”
“So what?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Forget it.”
“Forget what?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
He followed her as she walked out the door, and he waited while she locked the door. Taking her hand, he walked her to her car. When she looked up to tell him goodbye, he leaned down, slid his hand into her hair to hold her still, and kissed her senseless.
“I’ll pick you up at eight,” he said when he pulled away.
It took her a minute to figure out what he was talking about — Definitely senseless, she thought — then she laughed. “You jerk.”
“What?”
“You knew exactly what I was asking and pretended like you didn’t.”
He grinned at her. “Maybe.”
“You’re mean.”
“Kiss me again and tell me that.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think that will happen.”
“Me neither,” he said.
• • •
Late that night, while Payten dreamed peacefully without any creepy calls to interrupt her sleep, Dean woke from a nightmare. He didn’t remember it. He never could remember the nightmares that left him wide awake in the middle of the night, but he could guess what they were about pretty easily.
The sound of his own heartbeat pounded in his ears. A thin film of sweat covered his body and left him chilled. He lay perfectly still while he fought to slow his breathing from panicked gasps to a somewhat normal pace. When it finally slowed, he untangled his legs from the sheets. He got out of bed and moved slowly to the kitchen.
The nightmares always left his throat dry. Standing in the kitchen, he debated his choices. The milk in the fridge had probably spoiled. He couldn’t remember when he’d bought it. A beer was a bad idea. Alcohol always made the nightmares worse. He grabbed a cup from the cabinet near the sink and filled it with water.
One of the several therapists his father had sent him to in the years after his mother’s death had assured his father the nightmares would stop as he got older. He wasn’t buying it. He was twenty-three years old, and the nightmares still came as often as they ever had.
He didn’t tell anyone about the nightmares. Growing up, he lied to his dad about not having them whenever he asked. He hadn’t wanted to see another therapist. Staring out the small window over the sink, he prayed it wouldn’t take a therapist to make the nightmares stop.
He drank most of the water before he set the glass in the sink. Knowing sleep would be impossible, he went back to his room. The gym shorts he had gone to bed in were all he wore. He
plucked a shirt out of the hamper in his closet.
Pulling the wrinkled shirt over his head, he stumbled back toward the kitchen. After unlocking the glass doors, he jerked one open. He stepped onto his back porch, not bothering to close the door.
Shit, he thought. It’s fuckin’ cold.
He didn’t go back inside, though. He dropped into the rocking chair on the porch. Using his bare feet, he pushed the chair into a gentle rock. Thinking about it, he wasn’t entirely sure he had ever sat in the chair before.
Aunt Becky had insisted his porch needed a rocking chair when he moved in. The woman had nearly driven him crazy about it. One day, Jack showed up in the ugly truck the guys kept for work with a rocking chair in the back. Jack told him it was to spare them all the bitching and put the damn rocker on the porch.
Dean did exactly what Jack told him to and never really thought about the chair again. There he was, though, sitting in it in the dead of winter, freezing his ass off. Even with the cold, it was still nice.
Chapter Eleven
He called the little bitch over and over. Every message he heard saying the number was no longer in service infuriated him more. What had she done? Disconnect her phone? Block his number?
What did she think she was doing? He had seen her go to the police department. Did she think they could keep her safe? That backwater department couldn’t find their own asses. They couldn’t stop him. They wouldn’t.
He had a job to do. He was part of the plan. He couldn’t fail. The plan was too important. Dean deserved to pay.
He called her again. Last night had been so satisfying. He’d seen her fear. He could almost taste it. When he called that third time, he’d seen the shadow of her moving across her room through her filmy curtain. The bathroom light had spilled through the tiny window and across her small yard. He’d fought to contain his laughter.
The recorded message in his ear killed some of that satisfaction. How dare that whore block his calls? The cell phone cracked under the pressure of his grip.
He looked down at the useless piece of shit. It wouldn’t do him any good now. He threw it to the pavement and stomped on it. Slamming his foot against the cheap plastic helped work away some of the fury.
Discipline. He’d been told over and over he needed more discipline.
With the fury mostly gone, he worked on a new method for accomplishing his part of the plan. The sudden barking of that fucking dog gave him an idea. A wonderful, wonderful idea.
Chapter Twelve
Payten looked at the pile of clothes lying in the floor of her bedroom. She looked into her almost empty closet, then back at the pile. She whimpered.
“Britt! What am I gonna wear?”
“Calm down, babe.”
“Why don’t I own any cute clothes?”
“You do.”
She turned and looked at Bridgett. “Do you see anything in that closet that is first date worthy?”
“Since most of your clothes are on the floor, not really.” When Payten whimpered again, Bridgett laughed. “Come here.” She patted the bed beside her.
Payten trudged over to the bed and threw herself down. She stared up at the ceiling. “I’m nervous.”
“I know you are. You have to remember, though, Dean has known you your whole life. What you wear or how you fix your hair won’t matter to him.”
Payten moaned. “How am I gonna fix my hair?”
“You’re not listening,” Bridgett said.
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Bridgett reached over and slapped her thigh.
“Ow!” She sat up and glared at Bridgett. “What was that for?”
“You’re not listening to me.”
“You’re not helping me.”
Bridgett frowned. “I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
“Listen, bitch,” Bridgett started, “I know for a fact that Dean wouldn’t care if you showed up in gym shorts with your hair buzzed off. Since I’m your friend, though, I’ve been sitting here for — ” She glanced at her watch. “ — Half an hour listening to you whine about what to wear. I’m hungry, and you’re giving me a headache. Pick something and get in the fucking shower.”
Payten stared at her for a moment before she started laughing. She grabbed Bridgett and hugged her. “Thanks, Britt.”
“You’re welcome. Now, for God’s sake, pick something.”
An hour later, Payten stood in front of her mirror looking herself over. She wore a dark purple, long-sleeved dress that fell to mid-thigh. Because of the weather, she’d paired the light cotton dress with black winter stockings and high-heeled black boots that stopped just below her knees. Under her dress, she wore a black lace bra with matching panties.
She had skipped her usual braid. Instead, her hair hung loose down her back. She had parted it far to the left and pinned it back out of her face. She thought she might regret leaving it down because Smitty’s was bound to be hot, but it was so cute she couldn’t resist.
The knock on the front door made her heart skip a beat. She grinned at Bridgett, who stood behind her looking in the mirror. Bridgett gave her a thumbs up.
“I’ll just wait here,” Bridgett told her. “Michael and I will be there soon. Have fun.”
“I will,” Payten promised. “Lock the door when you leave.” She closed her bedroom door on her way out.
When she opened the front door and saw Dean, the only thought in her head was he was hot. His jeans were well worn, faded to almost white. Underneath his usual beaten leather coat, he wore a navy button-up shirt. It was left unbuttoned and hanging open. A black T-shirt stretched across his broad chest. Black boots finished his outfit.
“You look amazing,” she said before she could stop herself.
“I was thinking the same thing about you.”
She felt her cheeks heat at the compliment.
• • •
Dean couldn’t resist touching her. If she hadn’t blushed, he might have been able to. Instead, he leaned down to kiss her cheek before nudging her back into the house. He pulled the door shut behind him.
Inside the foyer, he pulled her close. His hands cruised from her hips to the small of her back then up to tangle in her hair. It drove him wild when she left her hair down. He had to get his hands in it.
“I’m a little early,” he told her.
“I noticed.”
He kissed her other cheek. “I didn’t want to be late.” He gently kissed his way along her jaw line to her throat. “You’re ready, right?”
Using his tongue, he gently flicked at her throat where her heart beat wildly. He heard her breath catch.
“I’m ready,” she said. At least she tried. It came out more of a whisper.
He raised his head and looked at her. Her boots put her at eye level with him. Her eyes were such a deep blue. He didn’t mind looking into them while she gathered herself.
“I’m ready to go,” she repeated.
“All right.” He moved his hands from around her waist.
“Let me grab my purse.”
He nodded, but it wasn’t necessary. He watched as she moved away from him. The swing of her hips drew him in. The dress covered more than it left exposed, but he couldn’t help wondering what was underneath it.
Were those leggings that she wore? They looked too thin to be leggings. Could they be stockings? He bit his lower lip to hold in a groan as he imaged her in those boots, stockings, and very little else.
She disappeared into her room for only a moment. The sight of her walking back toward him did little to halt his imagination. She came to a stop in front of him. “Ready?”
“Yeah, I’m ready,” he told her, very aware of his own double meaning.
Judging by the way her gaze drifted to his jeans, she was aware of it, too. Slowly, a flush crept into her cheeks. He was sure her sexy little stroll for her purse had been for his benefit. Apparently, though, she was as innocent as he thought she was and hadn’t had a cl
ue just how appealing she was to him.
He grinned at her, convinced she was perfect.
• • •
Payten sat at a table near the dance floor with Bridgett and Michael. Andie sat with them when she wasn’t dancing, and it was rare for Andie not to be dancing.
She checked her watch. When the guys finished their next song, they would take a break. It wasn’t that Bridgett and Michael weren’t good company. They were, but she would much rather be tipping back a beer with Dean or letting him lead her around the dance floor. Watching him play simply wasn’t enough when he was all hers for the night.
“This one is for all you lovely ladies out there tonight,” Kalvin said into his microphone.
She found herself laughing as the guys launched into “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic.” Kalvin sang his heart out to a cute blonde lingering by the stage. Payten barely noticed him. She barely noticed any of the other guys on stage.
Dean owned all of her attention. Situated at the back of the stage, behind his drum kit, he should have been difficult to see. She’d thought of that and picked a table with a perfect view of him.
He’d left his coat and dress shirt slung over the back of her chair, claiming it was easier to play without the long sleeves constricting his movements. The black T-shirt she had admired earlier looked even better by itself. It stretched tightly over his broad chest and shoulders. The short sleeves hugged his upper arms, putting them on display. She had always known she could be a little shallow, but with his shirt clinging to him, his dark hair a little wild, and the lean muscles of his arms rippling as he played, she thought she might be very shallow.
The song ended far too soon and at the same time not soon enough. She loved listening to them, but she wanted Dean all to herself. While Kalvin thanked the bar’s patrons and applause filled the room, Dean stood and made his way toward her.
He pointed toward her beer. “Can I steal a drink?”
She nodded.
“Michael and I are going to go dance,” Bridgett said. “Are you guys coming?”
“Sure,” he answered, setting the beer back down on the table.
He held his hand out for Payten. She took hold of it and let him lead her to a spot on the dance floor. The jukebox had kicked on to fill the silence left by the band’s break. It played a soft, slow song. She went willingly when he pulled her close, savoring the press of his warm body against hers.
