Ideal Image: Snapshot, #2

by Freya Barker

  “You can’t stay here, and I don’t think taking you up the mountain is safe. It would be too much of a coincidence to assume the break-in is unrelated. I’m not willing to take that chance,” Ben says.

  “The farm,” Nick offers. “It’s removed from the road. Has a long exposed driveway. I doubt it’s been on his radar.”

  “And it has your dad,” Stacie adds, making me smile.

  “And it has my pops,” I echo. “Along with the double-barreled shotgun he would have no compunction to use on anyone threatening these girls.”

  “Call your father,” Ben rumbles, nodding at Nick.

  I’m already making mental lists: the school needs to be notified the girls won’t be there, the call to CPS I’ll be making first thing in the morning, and the clothes I’ll need to pack for the girls. For now, Becca will need to share Mak’s stuff, until I have a chance to ask Drew about her things. Another thing to add to my list.

  This is what I’m good at. It’s like getting a new case to process; you break it apart and start dealing with each of the individual pieces until it all fits together. Except of course, this time is much closer to home.

  “WHY DON’T YOU STEP away from the stove and hand me that spatula.”

  I swing around at Henry’s voice behind me.

  Last night I wanted to wait until morning to pack up the kids and head out to the farm, but Nick made a good point. He proposed moving under the guise of night would be much likelier to go undetected than during the day. If this Kevin guy was still around, keeping an eye out, he’s less likely to do so after ten at night, when most people are heading for bed.

  By the time we got to the farm, Ben behind us to make sure we weren’t being tailed, it was close to midnight. The girls had both fallen asleep in the back seat before we turned onto Main Street. Henry was waiting on the porch steps and after a brief introduction to Ben, came to fetch Mak from the car and carried her into the house, while Nick followed behind with Becca in his arms. That left Ben and me to deal with the bags.

  With the girls safely tucked in the queen-sized bed in the spare bedroom, and Ben on his way home, I crawl into Nick’s bed, not even taking a glance at his domain before my eyes drift shut. I never even noticed Nick slipping in behind me.

  I thought I’d surprise everyone with breakfast this morning. I woke up early and found to my delight that the kitchen was equipped with a Keurig, the pods neatly aligned in the little rack beside it.

  At six in the morning, everyone was still sleeping, so I went about to make myself a coffee, while checking the cupboards and fridge for supplies. The two things they had plenty of were bread and eggs. French toast seemed the logical choice, even though my previous attempts at recreating the sweet fluffy delicacies Isla whipped up with a mere flick of her wrist, had failed dramatically. It was still early, and there were plenty of supplies for me to have a few trial runs if need be.

  I didn’t count on Henry getting up.

  “I’m not kidding, girl. Step away before you set fire to my kitchen.”

  “You’re up early. I thought you’d sleep in,” I observe, stepping back as he muscles his way in front of the stove.

  “I did,” he fires back, picking the pan off the stove. “Half the blooming day is already gone.”

  I glance at the clock showing barely seven in the morning, when the old man bumps me out of the way and moves in front of the sink, the pan in his hand.

  The “Hey!” that flies from my mouth is too late. My French toast is already being ground to pulp in the garborator.

  “That was my surprise breakfast,” I protest indignantly.

  “It certainly was a surprise,” he fires back. “I could barely make out what on God’s green earth it started as, let alone what it was meant to become.” I watch as he grabs a large bowl from the cupboard and pulls the fridge door open, pulling out ingredients so fast I can barely keep up. All the while continuing to mutter under his breath. “Whatever that was went from crispy to carcinogenic ten minutes ago, girl.”

  My mouth opens and closes like a fish as I listen to Henry’s tirade. The only thing keeping me from having my good intentions crushed, is the playful glint in his eyes as he throws me a wink.

  “I’ll whip us up some proper breakfast. It needs a bit in the oven, you’ve got some time to catch a bit more sleep,” he says, looking at me as he tips his head to the door. “It’ll take me a while to tend to the animals.”

  I’m still smiling when I carefully try to slip under the sheet without waking Nick.

  “What are you smiling at?”

  I look up and see his eyes shimmer between half-closed lids.

  “Your dad. He totally foiled my plans for French toast and basically sent me back to bed. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t mean to sleep. He let me know in no uncertain terms that he’d be outside for a while.” I grin at the single eyebrow Nick pulls up high.

  “Pops may be an old coot, but he still has some good ideas left in him,” Nick growls, as he lifts the sheet over top of our heads and dives on top of me.

  His hard deep kiss, combined with his solid thigh pressed up between my legs, is enough to have me writhing against him.

  “God,” I blurt out when his lips leave mine to trail down my jaw, to my neck where he licks and nibbles at the soft skin. “I swear you could make me come just by kissing me like that.”

  “Not today,” he mumbles, as he pulls at the neck of my shirt down exposing my breasts. “Today I have other plans.” Plumping my breasts with his hands, he leans down sucking first one, and then the other nipple into his mouth, releasing each with a plop. “Morning, my beauties,” he whispers, burying his face between them.

  My hand finds its way to the back of his head as my heart swells. Knowing that, as different as one side is from the other, he doesn’t see them as different. He doesn’t see me as different, and that makes me feel beautiful—no matter what the mirror says.

  Despite the fact we are in the middle of a fucked up situation, or perhaps even because of it, I don’t want to hold back. With both my hands bracketing his head, I carefully lift his face, his gaze immediately seeking out mine.

  “I love you,” I murmur, watching a light go on in his eyes. He rises up on his knees and his hands find the waistband of my panties, tugging them down my legs without ever looking away.

  “Say it again,” he whispers, his voice hoarse from sleep or perhaps emotion, as he reaches for the nightstand.

  “I love you.”

  I’m only partially aware of the condom he rolls on after pulling his cock from his boxers. All I can see is the wonder in his eyes, and all I feel is his body as he settles his hips in the cradle of mine.

  “With all my heart,” I hear him whisper as he surges forward, filling my body and my heart completely.

  BY THE TIME WE FOLLOW Mak’s chatter in the direction of the kitchen, my hair still wet from the lightning fast shower, something has fundamentally changed.

  For the first time, I feel part of a whole.

  I don’t really think it has anything to do with the feelings expressed, or the mind-blowing orgasm that followed. It’s just a slight shift of perspective; where one moment we are sharing our respective lives with the other, and the next we are sharing a life. Period.

  There isn’t much time to ponder on that, because the kids are already sitting at the kitchen table, starving, I’m sure. Henry stands behind the counter in the kitchen, wielding a pot of fresh coffee, and wearing a smile. A rarity I take as the kindness with which it is intended.

  OF ALL THE FUCKING luck—is this shitshow ever going to go my way?

  I finally get my ass to Albuquerque, in my piece of shit truck, to meet my PO, and the motherfucker is out of town for a funeral. He’s supposed to be back in his office tomorrow, so I reschedule with his receptionist for tomorrow afternoon.

  Guess there’s nothing left to do but find a willing hole to shack up with for the night. I head to my favorite bar in town, wher
e I grab a beer and a corner booth. It isn’t long before a tall, lanky woman sidles over and introduces herself. What the hell kind of name is Vyanne? At least she doesn’t reek of drugs and desperation, which is a damn sight better than that strung out skank in Dolores.

  This night I’m sleeping in clean sheets.

  AFTER WAITING MOST of the afternoon, I play the reformed convict for my douchebag parole officer. Stepping out of his office, I notice the sun is setting. Looks like a night trip back to my target. I hop in my ride to head back to Colorado and turn the key.

  Nothing.

  Fuck! I thought it was running like shit on the way into town. I pop the hood, only to see the damn coil wire burned in half. Not a chance in hell I’ll get the damn thing fixed tonight.

  CHAPTER 22

  Nick

  “I’ll try to get out of going to the game and fly back tonight.”

  I hate having to leave the girls, but this meeting in Denver is the final step in the Marx deal. After this is done, the rest of my caseload is relatively easy in comparison. At least nothing that involves the kind of hours I’ve docked on this merger, or traveling to Denver. But Marx has a private box arranged for the Colorado Rockies’ game tonight to celebrate, which means staying overnight, but I’d much rather sleep in my own bed, with Stacie beside me.

  “We’ll be fine,” she murmurs sleepily as she snuggles in my neck, wrapping her long limbs around me. She pulls up a knee, rubbing it along my leg, giving my cock all kinds of ideas. “Your pops is here, Ben was planning to take the girls fishing today. We’ll be fine,” she repeats.

  I shift her so she’s on top of me and pull her knees to bracket me by my hips. She moans lightly when she feels the evidence of my current mindset between our bodies. With my hands on her ass, I press her already wet sex against the base of my cock, as I flex my hips underneath. This time she moans louder.

  “Shhh.” I silence her with my mouth, catching all the little sounds she makes as she rocks herself against me.

  “You’ll be late,” she whispers with her lips brushing mine.

  “Don’t care.”

  I don’t. It’s five in the morning, Pops and the girls are still asleep, and I’m living my fucking fantasy with Stacie in my bed every night these past days.

  “I’ll be fast,” she promises.

  I hiss sharply when she lifts her hips and with one hand positions the head of my cock at her entrance. Warm, wet heat engulfs me as she eases herself down, and I press my head back in the pillow, emitting a deep groan. So fucking good. Every time I’m buried deep inside her is like coming home.

  She does a swirl, this little gyration of her hips, when she slides back down. Just at the end, a subtle torque of my cock that sends an electric current the length of my body and makes my toes curl. The third time she lights me up like that, I’ve reached my limit.

  With one arm around her lower back to keep us attached, and the other used as leverage to flip us, I take over.

  “Eyes on me.”

  Her eyes immediately find mine as I lift my body off her, place my hands behind her knees, and spread her up and wide. My hips piston, and my balls slap against her ass, as I drive into her at a furious pace, using my hold on her as leverage. With the deep groan of her climax, and her nails digging into my ass as encouragement, I come inside her in long, jerky spurts.

  It’s not until I drop her legs and lean over to kiss her sweetly, that I notice the lack of a condom.

  “Anastasia...” I lift up and look down at her.

  “I know,” she whispers, her eyes wide in shock before she shakes it off, and a tentative smile pulls at her mouth. “Not now; we have enough to worry about.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shakes her head sharply at my apology.

  “Two in this bed, Nick, but we’re not doing this now. You need to get ready or you’ll miss your flight.”

  By the time I come out of the bathroom and tuck my shaving kit in the overnight bag, I hope I won’t need, Stacie is already drifting off again. I grab my bag in one hand and with the other brace myself in the bed; so I can lean down to kiss her.

  “I’ll call,” I promise softly, pressing my lips against hers.

  “Mmmm. Be safe,” she mumbles half asleep when I straighten and walk for the door, where I stop to have one last look at her. Blonde hair spread out on my pillow, the curve of her ass under the sheets, and my seed slowly slipping from her body.

  “Love you, Anastasia.” My voice is barely loud enough for the naked ear, but when the corners of her mouth turn up, I wonder if she heard me.

  “NO THANKS.”

  I smile at the flight attendant who offered me a Denver Post the moment I sat down in my first-class seat on the small plane. Silly expense really, for a one-hour flight, but the arrangements were made by Marx’s assistant, so I wasn’t about to object. His money to waste if that’s what he chooses. I’m just glad I made it to the airport in time.

  It had been fucking tough walking out of the house this morning. Pops had been up when I walked into the kitchen, shoving a travel mug of steaming coffee and a toasted bagel in my hand.

  “Can’t think on an empty stomach, boy,” he said, like I was twelve years old again. It had been his favorite saying every morning when he made me sit until I ate all my mom’s lumpy oatmeal. She wasn’t a great cook either, much like Stacie. She could do the essentials, but she just didn’t have that touch. Pops has it; he can turn anything into a meal and make it taste great. I’m no slouch in the kitchen either, but I barely get a chance to cook. That’s my father’s domain.

  “I’ll keep an eye out,” he assured me as he ushered me out the door, not even giving me a chance to thank him.

  The flight attendant was back just minutes later offering coffee, which I gladly accepted, since I left Pops’s travel mug in the car, barely touched in my hurry to get here. I’d need copious amounts of caffeine to get me through this day to keep my focus sharp. I can already tell that will be an issue, since my mind insists on replaying every second of this morning’s feverish tangle.

  I realize too late I should probably have accepted the fucking newspaper.

  I need it to cover my lap.

  STACIE

  “Does the name Kevin Borland mean anything to you?”

  I just sat the girls down with a sheet of math questions I printed off when the phone rang.

  Their teacher sent me their scheduled classwork when I spoke to her earlier this week. I didn’t go into specifics about the police investigation—I’m sure the rumor mill will take care of that in a place as small as Dolores—but I did tell her that Becca was with us for now. She easily accepted my wish to shield the girls for a bit, until everything settles down, and was happy to send me some work so they wouldn’t fall too far behind.

  The last few mornings we’ve eaten a hearty breakfast—thanks to Henry—and sat at the dining table where the girls would do a few hours of schoolwork.

  I took the phone and slipped into the kitchen, where I could still keep an eye on Mak and Becca, but they couldn’t hear my conversation.

  “Criminal Sexual Penetration was the official charge. Happened at a bachelor party, his party, if I remember correctly. My office asked for nine years and got them. The guy was a creep and didn’t bother hiding it. The judge saw right through his defense.” I fire off the particulars for Drew without hesitation.

  I’m not sure why, but something about that case stuck with me. Maybe it was because it dropped in my lap right before the start of the trial and I was scrambling to catch up. One of the other ADAs, who handled the case up to that point, had to go out of state for a family emergency. Rather than delay the trial until his return, it was handed to me.

  “That’s the one,” Drew confirms. “He was released on parole six months ago, but the case wasn’t listed as one of yours. Neil found it when he broadened his search to include every convict the Albuquerque DA’s office put away, who was released in the past year.”r />
  “So you think it was him?”

  “Can’t say for certain. Only one way to know for sure, which is why I’m calling.” He takes a minute to clear his throat, and I use it to check around the corner to find the girls still bent over their papers. As usual, the tip of Mak’s tongue sticks out in concentration, something Ben does on occasion as well. “I know Nick’s not there. I just got off the phone with Ben, and he mentioned Nick is out of town. Ben said he’s heading your way shortly, but told me I’d have to call you myself and ask.”

  “Ask me what?”

  “With your permission, I’d like to show Becca a photo lineup.” It’s clear from the tone of his voice that this is the last thing he wants to put the little girl through.

  “What about her brother?” I ask immediately. “Why not ask him?” Drew’s deep sigh does not escape me.

  “Cortez PD can’t locate him. We’ve got the state patrol keeping an eye out for the vehicle, but so far no luck on Jason. Look,” he says in a conciliatory voice. “I don’t want to put that little girl through this either, Stacie, but you know as well as I do, that time is of the essence, and it’s the only potential lead we have on the guy.”

  Instead of firing off the knee-jerk refusal that wants to escape, I take a deep breath and think it through. In my experience, victims and witnesses of crimes, some even as young as Becca, often find strength in pointing a finger at the person they perhaps fear most. In a way, it’s taking back control, and I think perhaps it’s time Becca was given the chance to learn she can make a difference in her own life.

  “Okay,” I therefore say, after a pregnant pause.

  “You sure?”

  “Just give me half an hour so I can prep her.”

  This too is familiar territory for me. Witness preparation is something I was often involved in.

  I toss a fresh pod in the Keurig and plan my approach as I wait for my coffee to percolate. I’m just adding some creamer when Henry walks into the kitchen.