Jameson’s hands went to the sides of her face and gently brushed the apples of her cheeks with his thumbs.
“You are so beautiful, Kennedy.”
Her face heated pink and she whispered, “Thank you.”
“I shouldn’t be gone that long. Please don’t leave the office.”
“I won’t.”
Jameson leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, desperately wanting to kiss her but knowing it would lead to him wanting to touch her, and with her concussion she wasn’t near ready. He’d never do anything that would cause her pain or put her in harm’s way. And him roughly taking her against the wall would be the very definition of harm’s way.
“Be careful,” she murmured when he pulled back.
“I will.”
Jameson smiled and couldn’t remember anyone other than his team telling him to be careful. The concern settled in his chest and another piece of solace clicked into place. She was fitting one jagged fragment at a time back together. Though he wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever been whole, at least not after his father had abandoned him.
He took Kennedy by the hand and led her back to Nixon’s office where McKenna was listening to silence as she waited for Reggie to make a call, or pull his phone out of his pocket so she could listen in.
McKenna hadn’t allowed Jameson to hack Reggie’s phone. She’d waited until Jameson had taken Kennedy to bed and she’d done it herself. No one was actually concerned she’d get caught or that Reggie would know they could now listen to his calls and access his camera. McKenna was good at what she did.
After saying goodbye, the team left and Jameson waited until Weston was pulling away from the curb before he turned to look at his friend.
“What’d you say to Kennedy?”
Weston’s reaction was immediate. The corners of his eyes wrinkled and he scowled.
“Seriously? You think I’d go there with your woman?”
“Hell, no. But you said something to her. When I left, she was excited to track Coleman and when I got back, she looked like someone had kicked her puppy.”
“I didn’t tell her anything you wouldn’t’ve told her if you weren’t babying her.”
“Babying her? What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means, I’m not the one that loves her. I’m not the one who’s reliving finding my woman bloody. She needed to hear the truth, so I told her. Again, nothing you wouldn’t have said yourself if your head was on straight.”
Jameson was getting pissed with the round robin conversation and Weston’s evasion tactics.
“Which was?”
“I told her she needed to pull herself together and not quit.”
“What the fuck, Weston? She was hit over the goddamn head with a two-by-four.”
“She was. And if you let her, she’s gonna hold onto that thread—”
“Hold onto it? Are you fucking serious? She just got out of the hospital.”
“She did. And you know damn good and well the longer she has time to think on it the harder it will be for her to go back. Rip the scab off.”
“And what? Watch her bleed some more.”
“Yep. Then clean her up and help her heal. You know I’m right. When Holden fucked up his knee, we didn’t let him wallow in it for two seconds. We immediately started riding his ass to rehab it.”
Weston had lost his ever-loving mind. Kennedy wasn’t a Navy SEAL. She hadn’t injured herself in an accident and needed to recover as quickly as possible before she faced a medical board. She was his woman, and he would not treat her to “The only easy day was yesterday” SEAL mentality.
“Not even close to being the same,” Jameson settled on saying.
“To you it’s not, because you’re lickin’ your wounds right alongside her. You didn’t push her to go back inside her house and face what happened because you didn’t want to face it. And I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to go back to the place where my woman was victimized either.”
“She’s not a fucking victim,” Jameson growled and Weston smiled.
Bastard.
“You’re right. She’s not. So stop treating her like one. She needs you to be the man she fell in love with. The asshole who calls you to the mat when you want to crawl inside of yourself and not face reality. You’re doing her no favors by letting her hide in your room instead of taking her hand and facing her shit head-on. Reggie Coleman thinks he has her on the ropes. He’s probably sittin’ back waiting for her call. Fuck him. She needs to shove the stick he already has up his ass through his throat until he gags on it. And right now, she’s not strong enough, which means you better get to shoving, friend.”
Jameson sat back in his seat and stared out the windshield. Damn if Weston wasn’t right. About all of it. Jameson had been relieved when Kennedy hadn’t wanted to stay at her house. Relief so strong it had washed over his skin like silk when she’d said she wanted to go back to his house.
His jaw ached from grinding his molars. To loosen the tension, he stopped and licked his lips.
“I’m scared if I push her before she’s ready she’ll bolt and go stay with her mom,” Jameson begrudgingly admitted.
“Since when have you been afraid of a little backlash and resistance?”
“Since now,” Jameson returned. “Since I’ve fallen in love with her and the thought of her pulling away from me physically hurts my chest.”
“All the more reason to set her straight and get your head sorted. You’re looking at this all wrong. There’s a storm around you and all you see is debris. But what I see is, this latest incident has cleared your path and you’re not taking advantage of it. Be what she needs you to be. Make this better for her. We’ll all take Reggie down, but you’re the only one who can make her stand when she wants to crumble. And we both know if she gives in, she’ll regret it and hate herself for quitting. We’ve all needed a hand-up—don’t let her use your hand as a crutch.”
Jameson glanced over and studied his friend, not knowing when he’d gotten so wise. Maybe he’d always been, but Jameson never had an occasion to need a come-to-Jesus talk. He’d always kept to himself and been the one to offer support while dealing with his demons in private.
“Thanks,” he muttered his appreciation.
“Anytime. And for what it’s worth, she’s perfect for you. Don’t fuck it up.”
Kennedy was perfect. Everything about her stirred something deep inside Jameson. He needed to get his shit straight because he would not let her stumble. And so far, he hadn’t been doing a very good job at keeping her upright.
They’d already stopped at two houses and found them empty. Weston pulled down the driveway of the third and didn’t bother trying to be stealthy. If Peyton was inside, there’d be nowhere for him to run without being seen. The modest one-story house was surrounded by an open field and he’d be easily seen if he tried to bolt.
As they got closer it was easy to see no one had cared for the home in a long time. The wood siding was peeling, and in some places, boards were missing. All of the windows had been broken and the screen door was off the top hinge and rested crooked against the frame. Yet, the power was connected. It made no sense, the house was in shambles.
Jameson kicked the front door in, the wood splintering under his boot.
“Why the hell would the door be locked when all the windows are busted?” Weston asked what Jameson had been thinking.
“No clue,” Jameson said and looked around the room. “Someone’s been here recently.”
The walls inside looked just as bad as the outside, if not worse. Tattered old furniture that was probably left by the previous owners because there was no way someone would move this shit into the house willingly was scattered around the room haphazardly. The out-of-date wallpaper was peeling off the walls in sheets and there was a thick layer of dust on everything, except one table which had takeout bags littering the surface.
“Oh, yeah, he’s staying here,” Weston agreed and headed
for the hall.
Both men had their weapons drawn as they searched the first room, coming up empty. The second room the same. They opened the third and there was a blow-up mattress on the floor with a sleeping bag unzipped on top of it.
A scraping sound from the closet caught their attention and Jameson lifted his hand and silently motioned to the door. Weston nodded his understanding and quietly got into place, waiting to open the door when Jameson was ready. With a lift of his chin, Jameson gave the signal and the door opened, revealing Peyton standing in a pair of boxers with his hands in the air.
Pussy.
He wasn’t going to fight, which was a crying shame because Jameson had been looking forward to unleashing hell on the man. But the one thing Jameson wouldn’t do, no matter how angry he was, was beat a man when he’d clearly given himself up.
Goddamn, morals suck.
That didn’t mean when Jameson reached into the closet and yanked the man out, he’d done it carefully, and when he’d tossed Peyton on the filthy floor, he’d certainly knocked the wind out of him. With a knee in the small of the prone man’s back, Jameson secured his wrists extra-tight with a zip tie hoping the plastic bit into his skin.
Weston already had his phone to his ear calling Jonny.
“You’re a slippery motherfucker to find.” Then Jameson remembered he’d been deputized and he wasn’t acting as a bounty hunter chasing a skip. There were procedures that needed to be followed.
They had Peyton on a minimum of breaking and entering, which necessitated Jameson reading the piece of shit his rights and telling him he was under arrest.
By the time Weston had called Nixon to tell him they’d found Peyton, and Jameson hauled the man to his feet, they could hear sirens approaching.
Jonny and another deputy appeared in the hallway, both armed but holstering their weapons when they saw Peyton was secure.
“Found him hiding in the closet,” Jameson announced.
“Did you search the house?” Jonny asked.
“Nope. We were waiting on you.”
“Newton, take him out,” Jonny instructed the deputy next to him.
Once Peyton and Newton were out of the house, Jonny turned to Jameson and Weston, his scowl set, and he asked, “Do I want to know how you entered the premises?”
Jameson looked at Weston before his eyes went back to Jonny’s. “We got here and the door was open. We knocked and thought we heard someone in distress so we entered.”
Jonny’s gaze slid to Weston and he confirmed Jameson’s story.
“Did you read him his rights?”
“Yep. I even pulled the notecard out of my pocket and read it word for word.” That part was the truth, Jameson had read the notecard Jonny had given them. “We didn’t have gloves so we didn’t touch anything.”
“Found something,” a man called from the other room and all three of them made their way back into the living room.
“Looks like a key to a motorcycle or a four-wheeler.” The deputy motioned to a table with the leftover takeout trash.
Gotcha, motherfucker.
22
Kennedy
“Thanks again for taking my mom to PT this morning,” I told Holden.
He’d just gotten back from picking us up lunch and we were sitting around the conference room table. McKenna had her laptop open and the volume up so we could listen in on Reggie Coleman. So far, all we’d heard was static, which McKenna explained was the sound of the phone being in Reggie’s pocket, and a muffled conversation with a flooring subcontractor.
The conversation had been painful to hear, because Reggie was a dick and had berated the poor man for fifteen minutes about a nick in the wood the man had finished laying. And by all accounts the mark had been small but Reggie had insisted a section of the flooring be replaced even after the subcontractor explained it could be buffed out.
What a jerk.
“Not a problem. I talked to her therapist and he agreed to add TENS therapy to her PT. Studies show that electronic simulation can help a stroke patient regain muscle movement. The earlier you start the better chance there is for mobility and muscle control to return. Your mom’s made great gains and she does have some movement on her left side, which is a good indication the TENS unit will help her.”
For the first time, hope started to swell in my chest. My mom’s doctor had never been all that confident she’d get back more than the small movement she already had. From the beginning he’d had the attitude that my mom should accept that she’d be partially paralyzed and learn to live with it. Lola Lane didn’t learn to live with anything she didn’t want to live with. But that didn’t mean there hadn’t been times when my mom had been depressed about it.
But she hadn’t given up.
Of course she hadn’t, because Lanes didn’t quit. So was I ready to?
“I really appreciate it. The doctor never told us that was an option.”
“I got your back, girl.” Holden winked and tucked into his ginormous burger.
I’d been hearing that a lot lately, that people had my back. Yet it was still hard for me to believe that they’d all welcomed me into their circle. And my mom, too.
There was a loud rustling sound coming from McKenna’s computer, then a clear voice.
“Is he okay?” a woman asked.
“For God’s sake, Deloris, he’s fine.” We all sat up straighter and strained to listen to Reggie speaking to Peyton’s mother. “I didn’t come all the way out here to talk about your boy.”
“Our boy,” she snapped.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Why you standing across the room instead over here greeting me?”
There was silence, then it sounded like heels clicking on tile. The sound stopped and finally Reggie said, “Get your ass in the bedroom. I only have ten minutes. Bend over the bed, pull your dress up, and leave those shoes on. You know how much I love fucking you in high heels.” He stopped for a second and my stomach roiled listening to Reggie. “Better yet, bend over the couch. No sense in wasting time.”
Gross.
I glanced at McKenna and her pale face told me she was thinking the same thing I was. Were we really going to listen to Reggie huff and puff while he had sex with Deloris? God knows I didn’t want to hear it.
Holden had abandoned his burger and his lips curled. “Turn this shit down. He’s already ruined doggy-style couch sex for me. Which totally sucks because it’s a favorite of mine.” I did not need to know that about Holden. “If I have to listen to him pump away at her he’ll turn me off sex for eternity.”
“What if he talks during sex?” McKenna asked. “We need to hear everything he says.”
“Chasin can listen when he gets back. He has an iron stomach.”
“Poor Chasin. He just had to watch a skip get a BJ. Maybe Weston should listen,” I told him.
“Weston’s too squeamish. He makes gagging noises when he smells something rotten. Besides, I doubt that man will have enough breath in him to talk. I’ve seen him. He’s out of shape.”
This was true. Reggie Coleman’s gut looked like he was fifteen months pregnant with a giraffe.
McKenna turned down the volume and said, “We’ll give him five minutes. He said he only had ten but I don’t think he’ll need that long.”
The three of us were silent as we all watched the time on the corner of McKenna’s laptop. I nearly jumped out of my chair when Holden’s phone rang.
“Yo,” he answered. “Great. Tell Chasin he can catch up with Coleman at Deloris Marshall’s house. He’s there fuckin’ her now. But he better hurry. The festivities have started and he doesn’t strike me as a man who takes his time.” Holden was quiet for a minute before he nodded and said, “Right. I’ll tell her.”
He disconnected the call and set his phone on the table. When he turned to me, he smirked. “That was Jameson. He said for you not to listen to Reggie and Deloris going at it.”
“Okay, why?”
Holden’s smile deepen
ed. “For the same reasons I don’t wanna listen.”
“Oh.” His meaning dawning on me.
Jameson didn’t want me turned off of sex for all of eternity. Which I would’ve been if I’d had to listen to a live action porn starring the man I hated with every fiber of my being.
“He also said they found Peyton and he’s in custody. Coleman obviously has no clue, which is good news. He’ll carry on with business as usual.”
“Why didn’t you start with that?” I huffed, feeling a hundred times better now that Peyton wasn’t lurking around.
“Because I have Jameson’s back, too, so I prioritized.”
McKenna giggled and turned up the volume on her laptop. She quickly turned the sound off when a woman’s over-exaggerated, very fake moan filled the room.
“Why do women do that?” McKenna scrunched her nose. “Don’t men know it’s not real?”
“Men who pay attention do. Men who are out to get theirs and don’t care about takin’ care of their woman eat that shit up. It feeds their ego. They don’t care if it is fake—as long as she’s moanin’ he can pretend he’s givin’ it to her good and get off,” Holden explained.
“That was kinda a rhetorical question, Holden,” McKenna told him.
“Well, now you know.” Holden tipped his chin and smiled. “And you’re welcome for the clarification.”
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling at their banter. I’d been so busy working I hadn’t bothered to cultivate new friendships, and the ones I did have I hadn’t taken very good care of, so they all simply withered away.
I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
McKenna turned up the sound again and we caught the tail end of a conversation.
“…okay, fine. Will you call me tonight?” Deloris asked.
“Can’t tonight. Lois wants me to take her to the fundraiser at the firehouse.”
“Fine,” Deloris grumbled.
“Don’t do that, DeeDee,” he cajoled. “You know I’d rather be here with you. She doesn’t ask for much. I have to go.”
Jameson's Salvation Page 17
