by Casey Hagen
“An intruder made it into her house. He—uh—he hurt her, in front of Slyder,” Cole said, a lump forming in his throat. Nebraska had been a real spitfire, even marking him but good early on in the case, and it was a good thing, because when all hell broke loose, she had to draw on that temper and resilience to save herself, and Slyder.
“And he saved her?” Josie asked.
“No, she saved herself. Just like you did,” Cole said with the hint of a smile.
Josie slid off the bar stool and approached him. “I think I’d like to meet her sometime.”
“Okay,” Cole said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Normally, he’d reach for her, but right now, probably not a good idea. “I can get the food going. I didn’t take anything out of the freezer, but I can make—”
“I don’t want food.”
“We could watch a movie. You like Monty Python?” he asked, grasping for the first thing to pop into his head.
She laughed and took another step toward him. “I do, but no, I don’t want to watch a movie.”
“If you’re ready for sleep, don’t worry about me. I’ll find something to do with myself.”
“Cole, what’s wrong with you?” she asked, stopping before him and cupping his chin in her hands.
“I’m a little out of my element here. I don’t know what you need,” he admitted.
Her mouth tipped up in the hint of a smile. “You remember this morning, in your weight room?”
“Yeah,” he said, the sound grating from his throat.
“I need to go back to that moment. To before. Will you take me there?” she asked as she blinked up at him.
“We’ve never and for our first time…I don’t know, Josie. Don’t you want gentle and—”
“No,” she said, her voice sharp, certain. “I want you to make me forget his touch. There’s only one way to do that. Show me how you want to touch me. How you wouldn’t let yourself touch me—until now.”
Her breasts rose and fell against him as she all but begged him to have his way with her.
His fingers itched to take what she offered.
His mind wished for the opportunity to call Slyder and make sure this qualified as giving her what she wanted since everything he’d ever seen or heard about women who were sexually assaulted screamed at him not to do this.
“One condition,” Cole said as he framed her face with his hands and breathed a sigh of relief at the warm, pink skin beneath his fingers. “If you have even a glimmer of a problem, you speak up.”
“Done,” she whispered before turning her lips to his palm and pressing a lingering kiss there.
“God help us both,” he muttered before scooping her off of her pretty little feet and carrying her down the hall.
Chapter 10
Josie wiggled in his arms, trying to get close enough to kiss the line of his jaw. Only, with one deep breath in the crook of his neck, she abandoned the idea altogether, lingering in the heat of him and the faint scent of his aftershave.
She’d forget. He’d make sure of it.
She’d told herself she needed to go into this with every intention of eventually letting go. Only now, after the way he took care of her, worried for her, cherished her—it wasn’t about letting go. Not anymore.
She planned to hold on.
He lowered her to the floor at the doorway, crossed to the windows, and reached for the shades.
Here it was, two in the afternoon; most people were watching that clock, waiting for five o’clock so they could go home to their families, make a little dinner, maybe do homework with the kids before they settled in for a night of TV and fun.
But she and Cole had lived an entire day already, and the memories would haunt her if she didn’t make some new ones to slide into their place.
Turning to her, his gaze on hers, he reached behind his neck and peeled off his t-shirt.
She stood there, transfixed, memorizing the play of his muscles as he tossed the cotton to the floor and reached for the snap on his jeans.
He studied her, as though waiting for a cue that he should continue.
She leaned against the frame of the door and smiled.
Giving her one in return, he popped the button.
She held her breath.
He slid the zipper down with agonizing slowness, the sprinkling of hair around his naval tapering into a trail going farther, and farther, to a thick patch of brown hair.
He pushed the jeans down over his hips, his impressive, hard length emerging, jutting out, waiting for relief.
Relief she wanted to give him.
And take from him.
He stepped out of the jeans pooled around his feet, took a seat on the bench, and crooked that wicked finger at her once again.
Here, in this moment, she found her footing. Her balance.
And a man she could quite happily stand beside until the end of time.
She took a step toward him, and another, watching the way his coppery eyes flared as they took her in.
He trusted her, let her in, believed in her ability, and hotter than his six-foot-two glory, head to toe sinewy muscle and bronzed body, was his willingness to trust her to do her job, to defend herself—and him, if need be.
He was a gift in a world that hadn’t seen fit to give her many. Not a woman of sappy words, she kept the sentiments to herself and resolved to show him.
Lifting the edges of the sweatshirt, she peeled it over her head, memorizing the moment his gaze trailed over her breasts, and the way his chest rose and fell as he worked to catch his breath at the sight.
“I’m speechless,” he said with a sigh. “Come here.”
She stepped between his legs and stared down at him. “I’m here.”
His head lay mere inches away from her taut, aching nipples—so close that his warm breath danced over them every time he exhaled.
He tipped his head up to her. “We’re still good?”
Resting her hands on his warm shoulders, she nodded. “Still good.”
“Thank God,” he said, both hands going to her hips as he pulled her in and sucked her nipple into his hot mouth.
She clasped his head, burying her hands in his hair as he feasted on her, their harsh breathing and mingled moans the only sounds in the room.
His hands roamed her skin, leaving aching need in their wake. She couldn’t get enough of his hunger, and the way her body answered his desire with fiery demands of its own.
He suckled at her, taking turns, giving both breasts equal devotion. When he wasn’t coaxing her wet arousal with his tongue, hands and fingers played over her, keeping every part of her on the verge of oblivion.
He tipped his head up to her and rested his chin between her breasts. Patting the seat next to him, he said, “Join me.”
He took her hand and turned so he straddled the bench and guided her leg over to join him. Facing the wall of mirrors, he towered over her, and from this vantage point, she didn’t miss a detail of his skilled hands crawling over her thighs as she nestled her ass tighter against his hard length.
His hands roamed over her soft belly before cupping her heavy breasts, the view so erotic, she had to blink to ensure it was real.
“Remember this. Us. Just like this,” he said as he lowered his lips to her shoulder, his eyes still locked on hers in the mirror.
She let go, letting her head fall to the side, giving him inches more of sensitive skin to cherish with his glorious mouth.
Every kiss transported her further from the memories, bringing her back from the shroud of darkness.
Renewing her life.
When he coaxed her onto her feet, she did as he bid her, just far enough to thrust his hips forward and glide inside her, stretching, taking, making her his.
He growled into the back of her neck, the vibration sending shivers down her spine and setting off a trail of goosebumps.
The man, the rebirth, the ache that came with his heavy girth filling her brought hot tears to her eye
Cupping her shoulders, he rocked against her even as she rolled her hips against him. His lips roamed over her spine, leaving a trail of kisses that would mark her for the rest of her life.
A sudden bout of shyness threatened to overtake her at her shameless voyeurism into their erotic moment, but she stifled it, not knowing if they’d ever recreate a memory as exquisite as this.
The view of him sliding in and out of her, drenched in her arousal—it threatened to undo her as the climax barreled forth threatening to consume all of her.
His eyes met hers, his lips parted, and his breath tickled the shell of her ear as he thrust harder, faster, demanding more from her as the spasms inside her squeezed him with stunning power.
His eyes narrowed to slits. His hand spread over her abdomen, the tip of his pinky grazing the bundle of nerves at the heart of her, and somewhere, deep inside under the warmth and protection of his hand, her orgasm broke the rest of the way free and robbed her of air.
“Stay with me,” he whispered into her ear as he cupped her chin, encouraging her to witness what he did to her, what they were together.
She whimpered…the sting of pleasure almost too much to bear, the sensation so intense she either needed to stop or take.
She slapped her palms onto the bench in front of her and smiled.
She’d take.
She set a rhythm to challenge her body to go higher, burn brighter, to bring them both to their knees, but this time, together. She wanted to feel her body squeeze him in a vice grip even as he swelled deep in the heart of her and filled her with his arousal.
He clasped her hip and grunted as he drove into her harder.
She pushed back, sending him deep.
His other hand went to the back of her head, locked on her hair, and yanked her back with enough force to turn her on, but not hurt her.
Never hurt her.
“You’re mine,” he growled low in her ear. He rose up and bent her over and started to fuck her in earnest.
She held on, her breasts bouncing with each brutal thrust. She arched her back when it almost became too much, but when she threw her head back and spotted him, the expression on his face told her everything she needed to know to let go the rest of the way.
To trust him to take her hard and fast.
When he pulled all the way out and buried himself once again, she let go, submitted, and lay her chest and her face on the cool vinyl as he swelled, thrust, and burst free, filling her with his orgasm.
He curled over her and ran his hands along her spine as he still pulsed, but softened inside her. “I didn’t hurt you?”
“No,” she said, a whimper escaping with the word. “I’ll never forget it. It was perfect.”
He let out a light laugh. “Perfect on the first shot, huh? I guess there’s no need to practice then?”
“Always a need to practice. But first, rest. I need rest,” she whispered as exhaustion crept in and overtook her.
Chapter 11
Josie sat up in bed and rubbed her gritty eyes. For a minute she didn’t realize where she was, until she rolled over to glance at the nightstand, and the aches inside her bringing her back to the moment and who she was with.
She peeked over her shoulder to find Cole sound asleep, sprawled on this stomach, his pillow pressed against his ear.
Reassured that she wouldn’t wake him, she headed to the kitchen for water. Maybe even a snack if she could dig something up.
She flicked on the light to find her clothes, once again clean and folded, sitting on the island for her when she was ready. And her gun. A stack of printouts lay next to them, full of what looked like bank deposits.
She glanced down the hall and bit her lip. Probably none of her business. But if that were the case, he wouldn’t have left them out.
None of it meant anything to her. The company names were unfamiliar. Probably something to do with his client. No biggie.
She flipped through and found a printout of the investors from where Eric pitched his convention. She scanned the list and something niggled at her. Not making the connection, but sure she was missing something, she grabbed the other stack of papers and looked for duplicate names.
She yawned and blinked rapidly. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate she kept losing her place. Apparently paperwork wasn’t her thing. The printouts were enough to put a CPA to sleep. If Cole had taken a look at these when he took care of her laundry, it was no wonder he slept like the dead.
Her phone lit up from where it lay next to her clothes. Letting the papers go for a minute, she punched in the code and spotted the incoming text from her father.
She opened the picture and squinted down at it. The details too small to make out, she zoomed in.
A ragged gasp rumbled from her and her heart seized in her chest.
Her father, tied to a dining room chair in the middle of her living room, his face battered and bruised. She gasped, tears springing to her eyes.
Her phone lit up again with a new message…
If you want to keep him breathing, you’ll get back to your apartment in 30 minutes. Alone.
Careful to keep quiet, she slid on her underwear, jeans, bra, and tank top.
“I’m going to burn this outfit when this is over, I swear to God,” she whispered.
She snagged her shoes, gun, and phone and stepped toward the door when the earpieces they used that morning caught her eye.
She couldn’t risk her father’s life by bringing Cole with her. If she showed up with him, whoever had her father would just put a bullet through her father’s brain and then hold Cole at gunpoint to get her to comply, leaving her in a worse position than she was now. But maybe, if he woke up, he’d notice the missing earpiece and figure out what was happening and have a way to hear it play out while he figured out how to get to her, armed with the element of surprise.
A whole lot of things had to go right for her plan to work.
Chances were that it would all go wrong.
She shot a text back, a cold slice of fear winding through her. And a hefty dose of scathing rage.
On my way.
She turned the deadbolt, flinching when it clicked, then twisted the lock on the doorknob and slipped out the door, closing it gently behind her.
Making her way out the gate of the complex, she brought up her Uber app and ordered a car that arrived a mere three minutes later.
She rode in silence, the driver giving her uneasy glances in his rearview mirror, Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run” coming from the speakers, and the young twenty-somethings crowding East Ocean Boulevard as they bar-hop the night away, likely with every intention of sleeping in until noon the next day.
They smiled, laughed, and flirted without a single clue that a stranger rolled by, her world turned upside down, the only parent she had left, sat beaten, maybe not even breathing, just a few short miles away.
If he died, Long Beach would lose their beloved police chief.
They’d name a school, a street, maybe even a local holiday in his honor.
She’d be an orphan.
“Can you go any faster?”
“Sure,” he grunted and punched the gas.
She pulled her gun and popped the clip to make sure everything was ready to go. The last she had seen of it was after the cops had retrieved it from the bunker and while they poured over everything, there was no telling what they did with it.
Lack of bullets could really put a damper on the night.
Her driver’s wide eyes met hers as she slid the clip home, reassured that it remained fully loaded. “What? I’ve got a license for it.”
“You know how to use that thing?”
“How hard can it be? I’ve seen a few action movies,” she said in smartass defiance of his stupid question. Guaranteed he wouldn’t ask if she had balls dangling between her legs.
Uncertainty moved over his face as he pulled into her complex and came to a stop in front of her building.
“Thanks,” she said, pushing open the door.
“Whatever,” he said, before peeling away with a squeal of his tires.
Not that she could blame him. She caught sight of her image in the mirror and found the look of a woman who no longer had any fucks to give.
She’d found a way to belong.
She’d enjoyed a note of pride from her father.
She’d fallen in love.
She’d go into the fight ready to give it her all or go out trying because those three things were worth fighting for with her last breath.
She stopped at her car parked three spots away and flipped open the gas cap to snag her spare key. After opening the passenger door, she fished under the seat for her knife.
It resembled a folded Leatherman, similar to a Swiss Army knife, only better, and for God’s sake—American. But with a flick of her finger, it swung open revealing a wavy, razor-sharp blade. She reached down to tuck it in her shoe, thought better of it and instead tucked it in her bra under her left breast.
Climbing the stairs, her heart pounded so hard it was a wonder it didn’t fly right out of her chest. A lump rose in her throat when she spotted her door ajar, the enemy inside just waiting for her to arrive to the party.
And a box in front of the neighbor’s door.
Figures.
Willing herself to stay calm, she drew her gun and slipped inside.
The lamplight provided shit light for the situation, giving a whole lot more credibility to Cole and Eric’s use of sensors that blasted almost enough light to illuminate a football field.
“Let me help you,” a smooth, deep voice said.
The overhead lights flipped on, making her squint for a minute. She blinked twice and aimed her gun at the tall, blond tank of a man leaning against the counter.
Right behind her father.
He sat slumped in his chair, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
“Better?”
“Yeah, just peachy,” she said, keeping her gun aimed at him.
-->
