Brogan slowly lifted his hands and placed them gently on her shoulders, drawing her forward until her face planted into his chest and his arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight. His mind filled with his own memories of a good platoon, a good squad, but he also knew his share of assholes, some hiding behind rank. The idea of Ginny facing the abuse that had been heaped on her rocked him and he locked his knees to keep from falling to the ground, taking her with him. “God, you’re the bravest woman I know.”
Ginny kept her face buried as she felt the softness of his t-shirt against her cheek and the strength of his heartbeat pounding against her ear. Her arms curved around his waist, the breadth of him wide enough that her hands barely clasped. It had been a long time since she had been enveloped in a man’s embrace and she wanted to curl up with him, warm and cocooned from the outside world. His scent filled her nostrils as she breathed him in deeply.
Reality quickly crashed in upon her—there was one more story to tell. And this one might make the difference to the man holding her in his arms. Leaning her head back again, she said, “There’s something else. Something else that happened.”
Brogan peered into her eyes, the unknown depths staring back. He felt, as well as heard, her quickened breath as she moved out of his arms and stood a few feet away. Ice cold water flowed through his veins as he waited, unmoving, willing some of his strength to go her way.
Sucking in a deep breath, she plunged ahead before she lost her courage. “I was assaulted…not raped…but assaulted by a fellow service member. He came in when I was sleeping…pinned me to my bunk…and pressed his erection against me. He wore a mask, but I recognized him. His eyes were greenish-brown and he had a little scar through his eyebrow. So even though he thought he was hidden, I knew who he was. He squeezed my breasts as he rubbed himself on me and told me that if I ever told anyone, he’d kill me.”
“Jesus, Ginny,” Brogan ground out, his heart aching for her and yet uncertain how to help.
She turned, facing him, the sea breeze whipping her dark hair about her head, a storm beginning to form in the distant sky. “I need you to know before you speak too highly of me…I never told anyone about what he did. I was so tired of it all…ready to be discharged…so demoralized…I simply could not fight one more fight.”
His eyebrows lowered, as his jaw hardened to steel. “What makes you think I wouldn’t speak highly of you?”
Swallowing back a sob, she said, “Because I gave up. I knew who he was and I never said anything. I was a cop, even in the Army. I should have stopped him. Now, for all I know, he’s still out there, assaulting women, and I was a chicken-shit who did nothing.”
Brogan reached out once more and pulled her sobbing body into his, cradling the back of her head with his large hand, while his other arm banded around her back. Feeling her shake against him, he felt as though they were still not close enough. Bending, he scooped her into his arms, stalking through the wind over the dune, not stopping until he landed on the front porch of his weather-beaten house. Bending, he threw open the door, kicking it shut behind them with his shoe.
Already having made up his mind, he continued to stalk down the short hall, passing the one bathroom and entering his bedroom. His bed was unmade, but clean, and he lowered her onto the mattress, following right along with her. Pulling up the covers, he wrapped his entire body around hers, forming a cocoon that he hoped protected her from the memories of the past.
Holding her, pressed against his chest, making soothing noises, he felt her sobs subside and her breathing even out as sleep claimed her. Lying in his bed with her in his arms, the tightness in his chest finally eased.
12
A knock on the front door had Brogan cursing under his breath, hoping whoever was there would leave. Another knock killed that hope. Sliding away from Ginny’s sleeping body and out of bed, he walked quietly to the door, throwing it open and observing Grant and Jillian on the porch.
“Yeah, I’ve got her and she’s fine.”
Snorting, Grant said, “Hell, man, we didn’t even ask anything.” Wrapping his arm around Jillian, “Glad she’s with you.”
Stepping out on the porch, he pulled the door shut behind him. “She had shit she needed to get out and I’m damn glad I was the one there.”
“She means something to you.” Grant did not ask but, rather, stated the obvious.
Nodding, Brogan replied with a simple, “Yeah.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Normally, I wouldn’t say shit, but since she’s one of your partners, I’ll let you know that she’s fine. Like all of us, got some stuff to deal with, but she’s good…and I’m going to make sure she stays that way.” Focusing intently on Jillian, he said, “It’d be good if she had some female support too. I’ll have a word with Katelyn. She doesn’t need anyone fussing, but I think it’s been awhile since she’s had girlfriends. Y’all might’ve driven me bat-shit crazy when I was a kid, but I know you’ll take care of her too.”
As Grant tucked Jillian in closer to his side, she said, “No problem, Brogan. We all really like her and we’ll be there for her.”
Nodding, he finished up, “Now, if there ain’t anything else, I’d like to get back to her. She’s sleeping right now and from what she says, that doesn’t come easily. I want to be there when she wakes up.” With a head jerk, he turned and walked back through his front door, missing the huge grin Grant and Jillian shared between themselves.
Blinking, Ginny tried to discern where she was. Her body was wrapped in warmth, a heavy weight across her legs. Her hand lay on a broad chest and as she lifted her head, she was greeted by a pair of sparkling, blue eyes. Blinking a few more times to bring everything into focus, a hand reached up and pushed messy tendrils out of her face before cupping her jaw.
“Brogan,” she breathed, just before their conversation slammed back into her.
Feeling her tense, his deep voice rumbled, “Oh, no. You’re not going back there. No shame…not with me. No guilt…not with me. And, sure as hell, no regret…not with me. You gave it all to me and I’m gonna help you carry it, honey.”
Unsure of his meaning, she hesitated slightly in silent question.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said you were the strongest person I know. What you endured…what you fought for. You’re fuckin’ amazing. You’re getting counseling and are right back in a career helping others when you could have said fuck it to everyone. And,” he added leaning so close his breath whispered across her face, “you are not in this alone. Not anymore.”
“I’ve carried it alone for a really long time—”
“I get that, but no more. You’ve got me and I’ll help you move to a place where it won’t hurt so much, if you’ll let me.”
Reaching up, she settled her palm against his face, the beard stubble rough underneath her fingers as she moved her thumb over his cheek. The worry creases in her face eased and a small smile curved her lips. “I’ll let you,” she whispered, realizing for the first time in years she did not feel alone.
He kissed her, cupping her cheek, moving his lips over hers, relishing the taste and texture of the petal softness. The desire to claim was strong. The desire to protect screamed at him. The desire to right all the wrongs she had suffered claimed him as they let words slip away, the only sound was the little moans from her lips and the deep growl in his chest.
Time stood still as they lay tangled together, lips locked as they explored each other’s mouths. Brogan fought the urge to allow his hands to roam across her breasts, wanting to focus on her delectable lips, but almost lost his resolve as she pushed her hips forward, pressing against his straining erection.
“Babe, I want you so bad, but I want it to be a celebration of us…not a response to all the stuff you’ve been through.”
Ginny knew he was right and flopped on her back, her kiss swollen lips still tingling. Smiling, she nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Come on, let me fix you breakfast.” He rose from the bed an
d took her hand, gently pulling her along with him. Ginny made a detour to his bathroom as he headed to the kitchen.
A few minutes later, she entered the room, viewing a sight that would make any woman swoon—a bare chested Brogan, standing in his kitchen turning sizzling, aromatic bacon while a petite, black cat swirled about his legs. Before she had a chance to speak, she heard him softly say, “Come on, MB. Give me a minute and, once it cools, I’ll give you some bacon, too.”
“You have a cat?” Ginny asked, unnecessarily, bending to pet her. “Oh, my goodness, how sweet!”
“She was just a stray I found on the beach,” he explained. “Came here and was so hungry and scraggly. I fed her and she stayed attached to me.”
“What’s her name?”
Brogan grinned, a slight blush staining his cheeks. “MB.”
Still kneeling, she looked up, her brows furrowed. “Embee?”
“It’s the initials,” he explained. “M and B, together…MB.”
Still petting the loving cat that was now preening under her ministrations, she looked up again and asked, “What does MB stand for?”
Blushing redder now, Brogan tried to turn back to the bacon, but she was relentless. “Oh, no you don’t. What did the big, bad Brogan name his cat?”
“Midnight Beauty,” he mumbled.
Standing, she walked over, placing her hands on his waist, turning him slightly so he was facing her. “Oh, that’s so sweet,” she said, her smile wide.
Shrugging, he admitted, “She was so straggly, I thought she might not feel very pretty. I guess I figured if she had a pretty name, she would like it.”
Ginny’s mirth slipped away as her heart filled, her fingers digging into his waist slightly. Blinking back tears as her eyes drank in the enigmatic man standing in front of her, she whispered, “Midnight Beauty…that’s perfect.”
The room was full, with the addition of the local law enforcement from the Virginia area of the Eastern Shore peninsula. Monthly, the area sheriffs and police chiefs rotated group meetings. Today, they gathered in the Baytown Police Department and included Colt Hudson, Sheriff of North Heron, Hannah Freeman, the Easton Police Chief, Liam Sullivan, the Accawmacke County Sheriff, Wyatt Newman, the Manteague Police Chief, and Dylan Hunt, Seaside Police Chief. As Mitch brought the first part of the meeting to a close, he turned it over to Ginny.
“I just wanted to let you know that I’ve been doing some research on peeping toms and escalating behavior. I wanted all of you to be aware.” Receiving interested nods from all, she flashed information on the wall screen as she began speaking.
“The clinical term for this type of abnormal sexual behavior is voyeurism. It goes way beyond just a man wanting to get off by looking at a woman as she changes clothes or sleeps. And most importantly, it can, and does, escalate. Criminal profiling studies and researchers have learned almost all rapists and serial killers started their criminal activities with various levels of window peeping. To quote Vernon Geberth, author of A Sex-Related Homicide and Death Investigation, ‘not all voyeurs become serial rapists or killers - but all rapists have been involved in window peeping as they criminally evolved.’”
“Holy shit,” Sam cursed. Ginny looked his way, then watched the others, their eyes pinned to her data on the screen.
Continuing, she said, “Many sexual predators report that window peeping was a routine behavior but then they needed more enticing behaviors to become sexually stimulated. They are likely to escalate to burglary when residents aren't home, to cat burglary when people are home, and eventually to sexual assault. The number one deterrent, believe it or not, is closed blinds or curtains on windows.”
“That simple?” Grant asked. “I’m trying to remember if we close our blinds in the living room at night. I know we usually do in our bedroom, but if it’s a hot night, Jillian will raise them so she can open the window.”
Burt, looking concerned, added, “My wife and I always close the blinds as soon as the sun goes down.”
Ginny nodded, “That’s good and it’s a good thing to teach your children.”
Wide eyed, Grant shook his head. “Well, damn, we might as well live in a box.”
Ginny continued, “Most voyeurs are men, who tend to be more visual when sexually stimulated. A voyeur is less likely to be caught than a rapist. It’s easier to offend against multiple victims, or even the same victim, numerous times.”
“I gotta ask a question,” Wyatt interrupted. “We know rape is a crime of anger and control…it’s not about sex. But for a voyeur, isn’t it about sexual stimulation?”
“Good question,” Ginny acknowledged. “A voyeur needs this kind of stimulation to become sexual. But as they need more and more stimulation to maintain or initiate sexual satisfaction, they can become angry. They feel a lack of control because they can’t have or maintain an erection with just voyeurism. So, it can escalate to sexual contact and rape.” Looking around the room, she reminded them, “Don’t forget though, not all voyeurs become rapists. But some do.”
Hannah spoke, “You would think that with the Internet porn sites, someone would no longer need to peek in windows.”
Nodding, Ginny said, “I looked into that also. Usually voyeurs are users of Internet porn, but remember, it is still about control. Some people can go into a strip club and watch a woman dance and take her clothes off for money. That can turn most people on, but there’s no control there. In fact, the woman is in control. A voyeur needs control.”
Mitch took over as he looked to the other law enforcement personnel present and said, “I wanted you all in on this. Colt, we’re in your county, so there’s a good chance if we have an active voyeur, it may branch out into your district. And of course, as close as we all are, you should all be aware.”
“I’m really sorry.”
Ginny looked over at Sam, his face more ruddy than usual. Not saying anything, she let him continue when he was ready.
“I never should have said that some behavior should be excused simply because someone is a man. Wrong is wrong. Peeking in someone’s window is wrong.” Blowing out a breath, “Sometimes I open my mouth and can’t believe the shit coming out.”
At that, a laugh escaped and Ginny said, “Apology accepted.”
Arriving at the Baytown Elementary School, the two officers went inside to meet Jade. She met them in the counselor’s office, her face red with anger.
“Jade, what’s up?” Ginny asked.
After sitting, Jade said, “I’ve got a student that has reported that her neighbor watches her from his window. She says he watches her and her friends when they’re in the yard playing. She said he is real friendly, described as a nice, old man. Then she said, when her older sister lays out in the sun in the back yard, the man is doing things.”
Eyes narrowed, Ginny questioned, “Did she describe what she meant by doing things?”
Jade looked at Sam and blushed, but forged ahead. “It seems there is a treehouse in her backyard and when she’s in it, she can see her neighbor at his window and she said his hands are down his pants.”
At that comment, Sam leaned back as he said, “Oh, lordy.”
“To be honest, what she said was he took his thingie out of his pants and played with it, using his hands.”
Rubbing his hands over his face, Sam said, “Ms. Lyons, I know this was disturbing to the youngster, but without sounding crude, it’s not illegal for a man to…uh—”
“What my fellow officer is politely trying to say, is that a man has a legal right to masterbate in his own home.”
Blushing more, Jade nodded, “Oh, I know. But then she said that she was in her treehouse when her mother left for work and her sister was inside. She said he came through the hedge that divided their yards and went to her sister’s room and peeked inside.”
Ginny’s eyes widened at that revelation and she heard Sam whistle under his breath. “Okay, Jade, you’re right. That makes a difference.”
They took down t
he information and with the counselor’s promise to call the parents involved, they left to drive to the girl’s home.
“You think this could be our peeping tom?” Sam asked. “Somehow I imagined someone younger.”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “It would be nice if it was him, just so we would know we had caught the right person, but there’s no way to tell right now. Let’s go check him out.”
Calling in the report, they headed back to Baytown, Ginny’s mind full of what they might find.
13
“Mr. Barton? Mr. Al Barton?”
Brown eyes peered back at her from under bushy, grey eyebrows. “Yes?”
His one-word reply also formed a question, which wasn’t surprising. Ginny was used to people being wary of the police knocking on their door.
“I’m Officer Spencer and this is Officer Stubbis. We’d like to ask you a few questions. May we come in?”
Nodding, the older man moved back, opening the door wider. Once inside, he led them to his living room, filled with comfortable furniture. Ginny’s eyes quickly appraised the space, the length of the room allowing it to flow into a small dining area, with the kitchen at the back. There were three windows on the side of the house she was interested in and she noted a dining room chair was pulled from the table and placed near the window overlooking the house next door. The dining room table held a variety of papers, but she was unable to discern their contents.
“Will you have a seat?” Mr. Barton asked, indicating the sofa.
Thanking him, she and Sam sat down, watching Al as he took a seat in a chair opposite them.
“What can I help you with, Officers?”
“We’re investigating a report that there was a man peering into the window of your neighbors…the Caldwells,” Ginny began, lifting her hand to point to the house visible from the windows.
Bushy eyebrows lifted in unison, as Al responded in surprise. “You’re kidding? I’ve never noticed anything untoward in this neighborhood. I know times are changing and we have so many rental visitors, but that’s horrible.”
Finding Peace: Baytown Boys Page 10
