by Karen Renee
I nodded my head and spotted a bottle of Drano on the floor of the kitchen. I suddenly remembered that it was emptied long ago. I lunged past Officer Smith and snatched the bottle off the floor. As I moved to the sink, I shook the bottle vigorously hearing a slight shake within it.
“You gotta clogged drain or something?” Officer Smith asked.
My smile was almost a smirk. “No. My husband and I used to keep cash in the pantry.”
“How much cash?”
“I don’t remember what we had before the accident. It would have been between $300 and maybe $350. Definitely no more than that.”
“And you kept it in that Drano bottle?”
“Not until just before the accident. Previously, we kept it in an old cookie tin,” I nudged my chin toward the blue cookie tin and the upturned lid about three feet away on the floor, “For whatever reason, Greg suddenly wanted to change the hiding spot before he was killed.”
I opened the Drano container, moved to the sink, and upended the bottle. A plastic sandwich bag with a rolled-up wad of bills came to the spout, and I carefully pried it out and showed the officer the money.
“Who would have known about your cash on hand?”
“Nobody that I can think of. Well. Except, but-“
“‘But,’ what, Mrs. Pierce?”
“Well, my mother-in-law knew we had money stored on the top shelf of the pantry. She didn’t know we had changed the container. But there’s no way she has anything to do with this.”
“That may be so, but we will have to question her. Perhaps she let it slip in conversation. Is she in any kind of trouble?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Drugs? Alcohol?”
“Heavens, no! She can barely finish a glass of Chablis at Easter or Christmas. No way she’s into drugs.”
He said to me, “You might be surprised. As I said, I’ll have to talk to her. Please give me her contact information.”
I gave Officer Smith Gwen’s contact info. The two crime scene techs closed up their gear and ambled to the front door. Officer Smith gave me a wry smile, “We still think this is teenage gang-initiation escalation, but given what you’ve told me about your cash on hand, we’ll have to talk to your mother-in-law. If she has any kind of problems, then that may prove to be another angle.” He held out a triplicate-copy report packet to me, “This is your break-in report. You might need it for your insurance company. There’s also a pamphlet with your victim’s rights. My name and contact information are on the front. I hope you can get a good night’s sleep, Mrs. Pierce. If you need anything further regarding this case, my information and your case number is listed there.”
I nodded and closed the front door after him. I went to the formal dining room where there were unbroken wine glasses and then pulled out a reserved bottle of Kim Crawford Small Batch Pinot Noir. I sat down on the couch with a big glassful when I heard a knock at the door. Jumping out of my skin, and then feeling foolish for it, I tip-toed to the front door. I checked the peep hole and couldn’t believe my eyes. Cal was standing there, looking sexy, wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. I quietly turned around. No way was I opening the door to him.
His muffled voice said, “Open the door, Mallory.”
How did he know I was there? With a sigh, I opened the door a third of the way. Glowering I said, “Not a good time, Cal. I told you that on the phone.”
His eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Talkin’ to me while the cops investigate your home invasion ain’t ideal in my book either, Mallory.”
“How would you know? And how the hell do you know where I live?”
“Got contacts on the force, that’s how I know. Threatened to beat Gavin to a bloody pulp before he would give me your location. Now grab some clothes. You’re stayin’ with me.”
A bark of laughter escaped me, “Like hell I am. I hardly know you. I’m fine, it’s fine, and I’m staying here.”
Next thing I knew, Cal pushed on the door and stepped into my home.
Enraged and seeing red, I asked, “What are you doing?”
With his hands at my waist, he lifted me up an inch off the ground and put me to the side. Then he said, “Comin’ in.”
I cried out, “Why?”
“Cause you won’t leave,” he replied while he closed my door, bolted it and engaged the swing-bar door lock at the top.
I put my hands on my hips, “I don’t need to leave.”
“Got your door replaced that quick, huh?”
“No.”
“Then let’s go,” he responded stepping into the living room.
I followed, “Not happenin’.”
He scanned the mayhem and gave me a scathing look, “You can’t stay here.”
Who did he think he was? He showed up uninvited, barged in and ordered me about! I said, “Yes I can. It was just teenage vandals.”
He raised an eyebrow at me, “You gotta gun?”
“No!”
With his hands on his hips, Cal asked, “Knife?”
“A butcher’s knife, yes.”
He blew out a breath. “No. I mean a weapon.”
“I don’t need one.”
“What’ll you do if they come back?”
“They aren—“
He raised his voice over me, “Show them the packet of papers the cop gave you about your rights? Helluva lot of good that’ll do.”
“I’m not leaving!”
“Then I stay.”
My eyes bulged, “The hell you are. I met you eight days ago. For all I know, you could have something to do with it.”
Fury ripped across his face, “You’re right about one thing only. We met eight days ago, so I’ll let the rest of that bullshit you said slide. But I’m not lettin’ you stay here alone with a hole in your door, woman!”
“I’m not your…,” snippets of our prior conversations sailed through my mind, “I’m not—”
Cal smiled, “You’re not a woman? What are you then? Aerosmith’s ‘Dude Looks Like a Lady’? Those sweet tits and ass tell me different, sweet cheeks.”
I could feel my blood pressure rising, “I really want to slap you right now!”
He chuckled, “Bitch-slap me you mean. Give it a shot, sweets. Just proves you’re a woman.”
I tried not to telegraph my move, but seconds before my hand would have met his stubbled cheek, he grabbed my wrist. He turned us both and pressed me against the living room wall. His lips pressed into mine in a harsh closed-mouth kiss. Fear raced up my spine and I pushed against him with my free hand. He overpowered me, and I was really getting scared. I managed to turn my head and he reared back.
Breathing hard, he said, “Now. If I can do that to you while we’re both awake, what the fuck are you gonna do to a thug when you’re half-asleep?”
I was almost pouting, but I had no response.
“Right. Come with me, or I stay here.”
Running my hand through my hair, I said, “Fine. You’re in luck. The guest room was untouched and the bed is all made up. I’ll show you the way, once you step back.”
His eyes roamed my face, then he asked, “Your room the one behind us?”
“Yeah.”
“So, guest room’s at the front of the house?”
“Yeah,” I said with a slight nod.
“I’m not stayin’ in the fuckin’ guest room, babe.”
I pursed my lips. “Fine. Suit yourself. I’ll get some sheets and make up the couch.”
“No, you won’t.”
“You’re not sleeping with me.”
He stepped away from me and turned toward the couch. He took off his leather jacket and I saw he was wearing a black long sleeve thermal with some kind of leather vest over it. There was a large patch on the back with a picture of a clenched fist supporting a skull with wings jutting out from each side. Arched directly above the skull was a red banner with black Old English script reading, “Riot MC”; below the fist, a curved red banner with white lettering said, �
��Jacksonville, FL.” He put his jacket on top of my favorite armchair, and then he took the vest off and folded it carefully. Then he gently placed it on top of the jacket.
My mouth got ahead of my brain. “You’re in a motorcycle group.”
His hazel eyes seemed to sparkle as he looked at me, “Club, hon. Shouldn’t surprise you. Got a Harley, and I’m pretty sure you enjoyed bein’ on it.”
I tilted my head to the side, “But, you weren’t wearing that the night I met you.”
He smirked. “Yeah. Most of the time I wear it, but that night I decided to let people think I was a civilian.”
“You’re the reason the guys changed their trivia name that night.”
“Yep. You got any plywood around? It’s gettin’ cold tonight, and I can patch up your door until you get it fixed.”
I shook my head and tears started to well up in my eyes. He was right. I had no business staying in the house tonight. I felt so violated. Some asshole or assholes had been through my house! What was I thinking? Cal came over and took me in his arms. I let him pull me close. I tried not to smell him, but to no avail. He smelled like soap and leather and fresh air. His large hands rubbed my back in a very soothing manner. “It’s okay. We’ll take care of it in the morning” he murmured into my hair.
Chapter 3
Cal guided me to the sofa. Spotting my wine on the coffee table, he asked “Got any beer, Mal?”
I sniffed. “Yuengling okay?”
“Nectar of the gods, sweets. I’ll get it.”
He returned to the couch with a bottle in hand. He sat in the corner of the couch opposite me with his legs spread wide. He was looking around at the living room, but he was looking beyond the wreckage, assessing the wall hangings, and looking at the family pictures that had luckily gone unscathed. He looked at the flat screen TV and cringed, “I’d say we could watch TV, but those fuckers got it pretty good.”
I looked at the TV and shook my head, “You don’t work with the guys, do you?”
He swallowed a swig of beer and said, “The opposite. The guys work for me.”
My eyebrows crinkled, “You’re a client?”
“The club, not me.”
“Why does a motorcycle-“
“Can’t tell you. Don’t bother to ask. Club business is off-limits to chicks.”
I drained the last of my wine. “Well. Good to know. I’m going to wash my face and get ready for bed. God, tomorrow is gonna suck ass.”
As I stood up, I felt a draft coming in from the busted door. After I rinsed out my glass, I checked my smart phone to find out how cold it would get tonight. Low forties. Being a Florida girl, that was cold enough. I went to the thermostat, but Cal was already setting it.
I gave him a sideways look. He saw it and said, “Hon, you don’t want to pay JEA a shit ton of money on top of replacing your shit. I’ve set it at 60. You happen to have a space heater or anything?”
I was on the verge of shaking my head no when I remembered that we actually‒ well, I actually‒ did have a space heater. A smile ghosted my lips, “Yeah. I do. We got one when Landon was almost a year old because the heat went out on New Year’s Eve and we had to wait until the day after New Year’s for someone to get here. It’s in the guest room.” I moved past him to go get it when he stopped me by placing his hand on my shoulder.
“I got it, Mal. Go do your thing.”
I stepped into my bedroom to get a nightshirt to sleep in, when it struck me. Cal could not sleep in the same bed as me. If I felt nothing but guilt after a kiss from Cal, I couldn’t imagine the amount of guilt I’d have from him sleeping next to me in our bed. Greg’s bed. My bed. No way. Plus, since the accident, I always slept in one of Greg’s old undershirts. They smelled of him, and they were soft from wear, which also made them nearly transparent. I was standing in front of the dresser in contemplation when Cal came in with the space heater.
“What’s the holdup woman?”
I watched him set up the heater, and said, “I don’t have anything to sleep in.”
Cal looked at the scattered clothes all over the bed, “Uh, sure as hell looks like you do.”
I took a deep breath so I could keep hold on my nerves, “I only sleep in Greg’s old undershirts since the accident. They’re practically see through, and you can’t sleep here with me in our bed anyway. It’s wrong.”
Cal walked up to me and put his hands on my shoulders, “Mallory, you got a rough couple of days ahead of you. I know you had some special shit with your family. If those pictures out there show me even a sliver of your life, then I can’t begin to imagine how hard it is to miss those two every day. I’m not here to get in your pants. Hell's bells, if you woulda cooperated with me an hour ago, we’d be at my place and you’d be sleeping in a separate bed. Wear a regular pair of pajamas; sleep naked, sleep in one of his old shirts. I don’t give a fuck. I’m gonna be right next to you in case something happens. Not because I want to do you. Get ready for bed; I’m gonna check your perimeter, and when I come back in you need to be under the covers. I won’t see what you’re wearing. Fair enough?”
A shy smile pulled at my lips, “Fair enough.”
I grabbed an old pajama set from Victoria’s Secret because before the accident, they were my go-to pajamas when things sucked. It was a loose boatneck t-shirt and shorts set and the shorts and shirt sleeves ended in a frilly lettuce-edged hem. If I was sick, they were soft and made me feel better. If I had a bad day, they were perfect for curling up in my armchair with a good book and some wine. I went in the bathroom and did my business. I quickly gathered all of the underwear and other clothing that was strewn about the bed, shoved it in an empty drawer on the floor. I tried to put the drawer back into the dresser, but the clothes were piled too high. The drawer could wait until tomorrow, so I left it next to the dresser. The house perimeter wasn't that big, and I knew Cal could be back any moment. I had just pulled the covers up to my chin when Cal came to the doorway.
He leaned against the door jamb. “Everything’s quiet. A patrol car rolled by while I was out there, so that’s good, but a cop in a car can’t see what’s going on in your back yard. You know how loose your fence is near the retention pond?”
I rubbed my temples, “Uh, no. I mean, I knew we had issues with it a few years back, but I haven’t been in the back yard in quite a while. What’s your point?”
He moved away from the door, and he was standing perpendicular to me giving me a nice view of his profile. His nose was angular, but not too pointy, and his lips were full. I thought about kissing them again, but shoved the thought aside when guilt plagued me. “You need better security. We’ll get on that tomorrow too,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head.
I looked at his arms as he folded his thermal. There was a tattoo of two red dice on the top of his right arm and somehow it accentuated the curve of his bicep. It also made me want to drool. I needed to not focus on him, so I tried locking on what he said, “What’s this ‘we’ business? There is no ‘we’ here. Whatever it is, I’ll get to it.”
He turned to me as I pulled all of my light-brown hair out from under my neck and shoulders, trying to get comfortable. “You never asked me why I called you earlier, sweet cheeks. But, I called to ask you to dinner. Only, because of you sounding freaked-out and then hanging up on me, which is rude by the way, did I call Gavin and find out you already had dinner with your girl Natasha. I insisted on your address to make sure things were okay, because you sounded tripped-out. I plan to get to know you. Seeing your place ripped to shreds and you thinking you’re perfectly fine to stay here alone pisses me off to no damn end. Nobody, and I mean nobody, argues with me the way you do. You’re a royal pain in the ass that way, but for some fucked-up reason I like it. So you’re wrong. There is a ‘we’ here. You and me.”
While his tirade was enough to leave me speechless, I was tongue-tied by him pulling off his jeans. With him standing facing me in boxer briefs, I could fully appreciate Cal’s physi
que. Magic Mike can take a damn hike. Cal was as ripped as a man could be without screaming ‘roid rage’. His torso was tan and his abdomen was rippled like a model from a Men’s Health cover. His thighs had blond fuzzy hairs resting over his tightly-muscled quads.
I forced myself to look at my stationary ceiling fan, “This sounds like the opposite of what you said earlier, that you didn’t want to get in my pants.”
Cal ran a hand through his sandy-blond hair, “I don’t want to get in your pants. For now.”
I glared at him, partly because I didn’t like the turnabout on what he said before, but mainly because he was reminding me of Greg. Again. He smirked at me then said, “What? At least I’m telling you the truth. Men always want pussy, but I’m realistic enough to know you aren’t gonna put out on the first date. Rome wasn’t built in a day, sweet cheeks, but I gotta start somewhere. You’re the only chick who’s graced the back of my bike, and I never thought I’d let a woman on my bike. Definitely not some pain-in-the-ass I just met. Damn sure didn’t see that shit coming. Now give me some covers, it is gettin’ cold in here damn quick and that space heater hasn’t warmed up enough yet.”
I lifted the covers in a higher arc than I would have liked in order to spread some extra sheets over to Cal’s side of the bed. He might have glimpsed my frilly white Victoria’s Secret pajama set before he turned off the light. I hoped he hadn’t, but as he settled into the bed he rumbled, “Couldn’t convince you to go to bed naked, I see. But your PJs are almost as cute as you are.”
* * * * *
Since the accident, not only had I been sleeping in Greg’s old t-shirts, but I had a habit of snuggling with an extremely large, super-soft green chenille-covered body pillow. I bought it shortly after Greg and I were married, and we named it the Green Giant. Sadly, the assholes who broke into my house took it upon themselves to slash the Green Giant into three pieces. I woke up thinking I was snuggling with the Green Giant, but on opening my eyes, I saw tanned skin with a large pink scar running in an arc across it. The break-in, Cal’s overbearing nature and insistence to stay with me came flooding back to me. Shit! I was snuggled up to Cal’s chest and had a thigh draped over his right leg. Even before Landon was born, Greg and I never slept this close together. Between his tossing and turning and my sleep-like-the-dead tendencies it just wasn’t feasible. I had to extricate myself from this precarious position before Cal awoke.
