by Karen Renee
Warren smiled at me, “Sure they are, only one of them’s pissed off, and it’s her. My boy here has a shit-eating grin on his face, so they’re all good.”
“We’re ‘all good’?” I whispered in disbelief.
Warren heard me and said, “Yes. You women always get worked up about something. I’m sure Marnie here will be ticked with me sooner or later.”
“You just got married!” I cried.
Warren nodded, “Yeah, but that doesn’t change the way women and men are together. And men tend to tick women off at some point. The upside is that it makes sex so much better.”
I threw my hands up in the air and cried, “GAH! No talking about sex around me.”
Vamp swallowed some orange juice. “He’s soon to be your father-in-law, and you said he’s like a dad to you. Dads talk about shit you don’t want to hear. Get over it.”
Warren’s head jerked toward Vamp. “What’s this now? I’m going to have a daughter-in-law?”
Vamp shrugged and looked up at my still-standing frame, “You gonna marry me, baby?”
I scowled down at him, “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”
He chuckled, nudging my chair towards me. “Then sit and eat, so you can do your thinkin’ while I do mine.”
“What have you got to think about, Cary?” Marnie asked.
“Frankie asked me if she could be my old lady.”
Warren immediately roared with laughter, and I could barely hear Marnie ask, “Well, that’s a very big deal in your world, isn’t it?”
Before Vamp could answer her, Warren caught her eyes and said, “Not very big, babe. It’s the biggest deal to be had in his brotherhood, at least where women are concerned anyway. If he makes her his old lady, then as far as the club is concerned, they don’t have to get married. She’s his property, and she wears a cut to let everybody know it.”
Marnie winced slightly at the mention of me being Vamp’s property, and to be honest, I had to stop myself from doing the same. I somehow had forgotten about the whole ‘old ladies as property’ aspect, but I definitely supported Vamp being part of Riot, and for that matter, I loved his brothers almost as much as I loved him. So, I knew that I’d get over being labeled as his property.
My chair was nudged my way again. “Sit, babe. You gotta eat, even if you’re gonna do it without thinking.”
I glowered at Vamp, turned to Marnie on my left, and asked, “Is that a mimosa?”
She nodded, and as I reached to take it, Warren’s hand shot out, “Here, honey. Take mine, I knew you’d need to have one when things were all sorted.”
I plopped into my chair, and took a big swig of mimosa.
“So, you’re gonna get drunk in order to think on marrying me?” Vamp asked.
“You do your best thinking when you’re eating. I do my best thinking when I’m drinking.”
Everyone chuckled, but I heard Vamp mutter, “If I knew that was all it would take.”
*** ***
After three mimosas with our very late breakfast, I was more than ready for a nap. Marnie and Warren left us alone about the whole marriage and old lady business. Warren and Vamp both ate far quicker than me and Marnie. While we were still eating, Vamp came out with an iPod, which he docked into a stereo system I didn’t notice earlier. I was guessing it was Warren’s iPod because the music was an eclectic mix of blues and classic rock. When Marnie and I finished eating, we found ourselves dancing with Warren and Vamp. The impromptu dance session also made me ready for a snooze.
Smiling at Warren and Marnie, I said, “Well, this has probably been the best Thursday brunch I’ve ever had, but I’m going to lie down.”
Marnie wiped her sweaty brow. “You do that, dear. I’m going to go put on my swimsuit, it’s getting hotter than Hades out here.”
Vamp wrapped an arm around me and guided me toward the door, but as we neared Warren, I heard him say to Marnie, “You could skip the suit, since they’re going inside.”
I couldn’t stop myself before I said, “Jesus! The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree around here.”
Once we were in the bedroom, I climbed straight into bed and pulled the covers over myself. While Warren and Marnie had left the subject of marriage alone, Vamp was not of the same mindset. He climbed right on top of me, and he framed my face with both of his hands.
“You get your thinking done?”
I was shooting for surly when I said, “Don’t know. Did you?”
I got a quick eyebrow lift and a smirk, “Throw that attitude at me, baby. You know I like it.”
Dammit! How did I keep forgetting that? I managed to shake my head even while Vamp’s hands were still on my face.
“I got my thinking done, in case you really wanted to know.”
I gave him a quick eyebrow lift in response. Vamp’s head came closer and then his lip ring brushed across the curves of my upper lip.
He murmured against my lips, “You want to know what I think?”
“Sure,” I whispered, because I was pretty sure I knew exactly what he was thinking.
“I’m gonna make you my old lady, but you have to take my name too. You need to be a Sullivan just like me, my dad, Brock and Gabe. You’ve always been part of Riot, but you are mine and I want everyone to know it, even the fuckin’ government.”
I loved the sound of all of that, even if all of that scared the ever-loving hell out of me. I knew I loved it because as soon as he said I needed to be a Sullivan, a warm thrill raced from my breasts down my rib cage and straight to my doo-dah. I didn’t have words to tell him how much I loved what he had to say, so I clenched the back of his head with my left hand and kissed him for all I was worth.
CHAPTER 17
I was wrapped firmly around Vamp on the back of his bike. We had just turned onto my street, but strangely, he zipped right past my house. Fear stole across my neck as Vamp leaned into a turn to round the cul-de-sac at the end of my street. We were making another pass of my house, and all I could think was what in the fuck? It wasn’t because Vamp had passed my house and it wasn’t because he rounded the end of my street. It was because I knew right down to my marrow that his doing that meant something was wrong. We had been gone for eight days, and those eight days had been utter bliss. I didn’t want anything to shatter our long stretch of bliss. After what we had gone through, I thought we were entitled to more than a little bliss.
Ok, so Thursday Vamp and I had essentially tiffed about semantics and pushy marriage proposals, but we didn’t nap until we had well and truly fucked. Sorry, but Cary had serious talent when it came to the bedroom, and I didn’t want some slow, meandering love-making just because we had agreed to commit to one another. We had done the slow explorations of our bodies on Wednesday, so when things started to escalate after we agreed to marriage and old lady-hood, I begged for him to spank me and then go hard, fast, and rough.
Friday morning, we told Warren and Marnie to have a great Memorial Day weekend and left around eleven. The ride back to my place might well have been even better than the high-speed drive down to Ponce Inlet eight days ago. I tried to make myself think it was because of the new biker gear I was wearing, a cap-sleeved brown t-shirt with an extremely deep v-neck and a picture of a gear with the Rebel Girl logo in it, but I knew better. It was because Vamp and I had attained a new level of commitment, one I never thought was possible from him, and subsequently I was happier than I ever knew I could be. I knew a man could not complete me, but this man was so much the yin to my yang that we fit together like a lock and a key.
Perhaps it was this new-found level of happiness, but whatever it was, I truly did not want anything bad to happen today. I mean, I never wanted anything bad to happen, but I simply was not ready for any form of the real world to break into our bliss-filled bubble.
Nevertheless, dread climbed up and settled in my throat.
We went back out to the main drag of A1A, and pulled into a freestanding Starbucks. I hopped off the b
ike, and got my purse out of the saddlebag Vamp opened for me. Then I watched him pull his cell from his back pocket.
“I got time to go to the bathroom?” I asked, as he placed the phone to his ear.
He nodded at me, swung his leg off his bike and followed me into Starbucks.
I took care of business in the bathroom and found Vamp sitting at a small table. I sat down and tried to discreetly take in my surroundings. It was just past twelve-thirty, and the inside of the Starbucks only had one hipster, seated in the corner on his laptop with ear buds in his ears.
“Who’d you call?” I asked quietly.
“Volt. Somethin’ ain’t right. I can feel it in my gut, and I think a dark sedan followed us, but they were stopped by the traffic light back at First Street and the throng of tourists trying to cross the street. If they’re following us, I expect they’ll find us.”
I pursed my lips and was going to ask why on earth an unmarked sedan would be following us when two burly men came inside. They looked like cops at first glance, and as they came further into the coffee shop, I saw they had badges clipped to their belts.
I heard Vamp mutter, well under his breath, “Speak of the devil.”
Both officers were in business-casual attire. One was wearing khaki pants with pleats in the front and a sharp crease down the leg and a plain white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone. The shirt was so stiff, I figured he must have it professionally cleaned with starch added. He looked to be Italian-American or maybe Hispanic because his olive complexion was a touch darker than my own, and he had a severe hook nose. He had salt-and-pepper hair that was cut into a very short crew-cut. There was a smattering of dark stubble along his cheeks; his five-o’clock-shadow started more around two o’clock. He pulled out the last chair at our tiny table and sat down. The mellow scent of Calvin Klein’s Obsession hit me like a soft slap in the face. Ten years ago, it would have been nice, but he really needed to get with the times. His dark brown eyes were assessing me, and then he looked at Vamp.
His eyes swiveled back to me and he asked, “Frances Ingram?”
I was not prepared for my full middle name to be used as my first name, which meant that I did not keep myself from blinking noticeably.
His partner, who was still standing, but now standing very close, said, “Maybe we should say ‘Frankie’ Ingram?”
The partner was far taller than the officer sitting at our table. He was a well-built black man with no more hair than Vamp. He was wearing navy-blue dress pants with a short-sleeved light-blue dress shirt which had pencil-thin sky-blue and maize-colored stripes running through it. His complexion was much like chocolate syrup, both in hue and overall shininess. His eyes somehow seemed friendlier than the officer’s who was sitting at our table. In no way was I going to let friendly eyes fool me, though. They were both cops, and it wasn’t a normal occurrence to come home from a week away to find an unmarked car with two cops in it waiting for you.
I smiled up at the partner. “Yes, I’m Frankie, or Frances, Ingram. Can I help you with something?”
At this point, hook-nose turned to Vamp. “And you must be the infamous Vamp, also known as Cary Sullivan.”
Cary said nothing, but ever so slightly lifted his chin, the bare essentials of respect.
My patience was running thin, so I asked, “Is there something wrong?”
Hook-nose looked up to his partner, “What do you think, partner? Is there something wrong?”
Apparently Vamp’s patience was running thin also, “We don’t need to sit here and play games. You were sitting outside her house, and then you followed us here. The question is ‘Why?’”
“You’re right, Mr. Sullivan. We were waiting outside Ms. Ingram’s home. Be nice to know why you turned tail once you got near her house, but for now, we need to clear a few things up with both of you.”
My instinct was telling me this wasn’t right, and not just because I could feel a strange and awful vibe from Vamp. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t have the foggiest idea what to say. Fortunately, this was not Vamp’s first police encounter.
“You want to ask us some questions?”
“That gonna be a problem?” Hook-nose asked.
Vamp let out a long breath that was almost a sigh and said, “Not a problem, if my lawyer’s present, sir.”
“You want a lawyer?” Hook-nose asked.
Vamp said nothing, and his brilliant blue eyes were eerily blank.
Hook-nose’s partner said, “You’re not under arrest. You don’t need a lawyer.”
“My lawyer would disagree. We will be happy to ‘clear up a few things for you’, once my representative from Bernstein and Logan arrives.”
Hook-nose gave Vamp a sideways glance and asked, “You called them already?”
Vamp’s silence was so heavy it more than spoke for itself. Thank Heavens that he was here, because otherwise, I would have been spilling my guts, much to my own detriment, most likely.
The partner said, “We’d like you both to come into headquarters for some questions. You want your lawyer there, obviously that’s fine. We can take you both downtown now, if that works for you.”
Vamp looked at both officers and then pointed a look at me that warned me to pay attention, “Take her with you. I’ll be more than happy to follow you downtown to headquarters. Unless we’re headed to a substation.”
Hook-nose shook his head at Vamp. “No substation. We’re going downtown. Let’s move it.”
*** ***
The detectives led me to their unmarked four-door sedan while Vamp nonchalantly made his way to his bike without me. The trip downtown was quick and, had I not been completely freaked the hell out, it would have also been uneventful. They finally introduced themselves to me in the car. Hook-nose was Detective DeMarco and his partner was Detective Winston.
The two detectives led me inside the police station to a small room with a nondescript table and four chairs. I thought both would stay in the room with me, but Detective Winston left the room in order to make sure Vamp made it inside the building.
As soon as the door closed, Detective DeMarco asked, “How do you know Emily Yates?”
My eyebrows furrowed immediately, and it was on the tip of my tongue to ask who he was talking about when the door swung open. A tall, thin woman with flaming red hair walked into the room and set her leather attaché case on the table. She was wearing a snazzy black pantsuit; under other circumstances I would have asked her where she bought it.
“Detective DeMarco, I know you’re not trying to ask my client any questions without me.”
DeMarco blew out a sigh, “Ms. Ingram is not under arrest.”
The red-head tilted her head to me, but asked DeMarco, “Would you mind giving me and Ms. Ingram a moment?”
“I do mind. I have a job to do –”
She cut him off to say, “As do I. The sooner I get to speak with Ms. Ingram alone, the sooner we can all get on with things.”
DeMarco stood up. “A moment. I’ll be right back.”
“Ok, Ms. Ingram, I’m Martina Adams. I’m an associate at Bernstein and Logan. Now, who is Emily Yates?”
My mouth seemed suddenly dry, but I swallowed and said, “I don’t really know her. She came into my office under the pretense of needing a home loan.”
“You’re a loan officer, I’m told.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She shook her head at me, “None of this ‘Ma’am’ business. Continue.”
“Well, she didn’t actually want a loan. She wanted to know about a picture her friend took of me speaking with her brother-in-law, Mark Stillman.”
The door opened, and DeMarco came back into the room. It hadn’t seemed like such a small room when we first arrived, but now that there were three of us in it, the space seemed very cramped. Maybe it was just my own nerves getting to me, but I could see how this room alone would prompt someone to spill their guts.
“How do you know Emily Yates?” DeM
arco asked again, as he took his seat across from me.
“She doesn’t,” Ms. Adams said.
DeMarco’s brown eyes slid to her, “One more time, she’s not under arrest, so how about you let her answer?”
Ms. Adams shook her head. “She’s met Ms. Yates once under false circumstances.”
“Right. We’ve got a friend of hers who tells us Ms. Yates met with Ms. Ingram roughly ten days ago.”
“And just why wouldn’t Ms. Yates tell you this herself?” my new lawyer asked.
DeMarco leveled a look at her and then moved his hard stare at me, “Ms. Yates has been beaten to within an inch of her life and is currently in a coma.”
I gasped and blurted, “That’s just awful! Who would do such a thing?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out, since Ms. Yates can’t tell us who attacked her. I understand you were attacked by her brother-in-law, Mark Stillman.”
My lips pursed reflexively. “Yes.”
“Is there any reason you didn’t press charges at the time?”
Ms. Adams cut in, “I don’t see how this is pertinent to your investigation of who attacked Ms. Yates.”
“According to the friend, Ms. Yates showed a photo to Ms. Ingram, and wanted her help with telling her sister about her violent husband.”
“She did, but I didn’t agree to do so.”
“Why not?”
“How is that pertinent to your investigation of Ms. Yates’s assault?” Ms. Adams asked.
“Where were you Wednesday night, May seventeenth?”
“Is she under arrest?”
“Already said she wasn’t,” Detective DeMarco almost growled at us.
I just barely saw Martina Adams nod her head at me, so I said, “I was at work until six-fifteen, then I went by a grocery store for dinner ingredients, and then went home.”
“Home by yourself?”
Before I could stop myself, I shook my head no, as Martina said, “Don’t answer that.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me that your boyfriend was with you that night?”
