Black Heart

by R. L. Mathewson

  "What are you doing?" Marty asked as she tried to pull her hand away, but he refused to release it. It felt good to hold her hand and now that he'd decided that he wasn't going to let her go, he realized that there was no longer any reason to deny himself what he wanted.

  "Holding your hand. What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked as they passed the old-fashioned ice cream shop that he decided they'd hit after they ate to see if Marty still had a weak spot for peanut butter cup sundaes to sweeten her up for the talk that they needed to have later.

  "Why?"

  "Why wouldn't I hold your hand?" he asked, looking down at her as he reached out and opened the door to the small barbeque restaurant for her.

  "Because I hate you?" she asked, trying to pull her hand away.

  "Uh huh," he said, letting her hand go and gesturing for her to precede him into the small restaurant.

  "Why did you say that like I was kidding?" she asked, pausing to let an elderly couple carrying trays full of food pass them as they made their way to the small dining area.

  "Because you were," he said, taking her hand back into his as they moved to step into the mercifully short line.

  "No, I assure you that I really do hate you. In fact, I'm kind of hoping that the therapist takes one look at you and recommends shock therapy or perhaps a straitjacket." She pursed her lips up in thought and shrugged. "Then again, I wouldn't be opposed to a lobotomy if he really felt that was necessary."

  "That's very generous of you," he drawled absently as he looked past the middle-aged couple in front of them. He watched as an elderly woman with her hair pulled back into a severe bun and was wearing a pair of no-nonsense thick black squared frame eyeglasses, a scowl that looked both permanent and painful, and a off-white nightgown that covered her from mid-neck to the very tops of her feet, berated a man in his mid-thirties with thinning brown hair that watched the cashier with a little too much interest.

  "Is this how I raised you?" the woman demanded as she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the man as he shifted, obviously anxious for the family in front of him to finish up with their order and get out of his way.

  "I don't understand why you do these things, Francis," the elderly woman snapped as a little boy unknowingly ran through her on his way to the bathroom. "I cannot believe this is how you want to live your life. You're lucky that I'm dead, young man, or I would take you over my knee and give you the spanking that you deserve!"

  As Tristan placed his hands on Marty's shoulders and shifted her to the side, he idly wondered just how long the woman had been haunting this man. Obviously she felt that he needed looking after and Tristan couldn't agree more.

  "What are you doing?" Marty demanded as she shoved his hands aside and tried to move back in line.

  He pressed a quick kiss to her stunned lips before he gave her another gentle push aside, risking bodily harm for getting between her and barbecue food. "Either get the hell out of here, Marty, or duck," he said softly as he unsnapped his holster and placed his hand on the butt of his weapon.

  "Francis McDonald, you listen to me right now!" the woman snapped, getting good and mad as she stepped in front of him and tried to stop him. "You haul your butt down to the police station and turn yourself in this instant! I swear to God that if you don't, I will haunt you for the rest of your life! If you so much as take one cent from these people, I will slap you silly the moment you die for all this nonsense!"

  The man stepped through her as the family ahead of him finally got their order and headed for their table. Tristan watched as the man reached into his jacket as he approached the cashier. She opened her mouth to greet the next customer when her eyes widened in terror.

  "Tristan?" Marty said behind him, sounding nervous and making him wish that he could pull her into his arms and protect her from this, but he was already moving.

  He pushed the couple in front of him aside, pulled his weapon free and aimed it between the shoulders of the man standing in front of him. "Francis McDonald, put your weapon on the floor slowly and step away," he said in a hard tone of authority that usually worked for him.

  Francis, noticeably startled, slowly looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened in shock when he spotted Tristan. For a moment, he stood there, frozen in fear.

  "See? Didn't I tell you that you would get caught one day?" the woman demanded. "But would you listen to me? No, you just had to do things your own way."

  "Put your weapon down, now!" Tristan shouted.

  The man nodded once as he did just that, keeping his eyes locked on Tristan the entire time. As he slowly stood up, he glanced at the exit.

  "Don't even think about it, asshole. Turn around and place your hands on the counter," Tristan said, stepping forward as he kept his gun aimed on him.

  "You better not resist arrest this time, mister," the elderly woman haunting his suspect said with a stern expression that she no doubt thought would be obeyed.

  Tristan didn't even know the man and he knew what the bastard was going to do. Before Tristan could reach for his cuffs, Francis turned and bolted for the door. With a muttered curse, Tristan quickly holstered his weapon and went after him. Five feet from the door, Tristan managed to tackle him, sending them both sliding across the polished black and white tiled floor. Tristan's left shoulder slammed into the doorway of the double door entrance, sending sharp pain through his shoulder and down his arm. He was barely aware of Marty screaming his name as he wrestled with the bastard struggling to get away.

  Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Tristan forced the suspect onto his stomach and yanked both of his arms behind his back and cuffed him. His shoulder was in agony and the bastard wouldn't stop trying to get away. What the hell was wrong with this douche bag? Tristan wondered as he stood up, stumbling slightly from the pain. Francis took that as the signal to get to his feet and try to make a run for it with both his arms handcuffed behind his back.

  "Think again, asshole," Tristan said as he reached out with his good hand and grabbed the short chain of the handcuffs and yanked Francis back.

  "You have the right to remain silent," he said, shooting a pointed look at the elderly woman standing next to them when she opened her mouth to start in on the bastard again. The perp couldn't hear her, but Tristan sure as hell could and his patience had shot out the window three minutes ago when the prick had screwed his shoulder up.

  She looked surprised, but smartly nodded and kept her mouth shut as Tristan finished reading the man his rights. Tristan picked up the gun on the floor before he hauled Francis out of the restaurant. Biting back a grimace of pain, Tristan placed the suspect in the back of his car. He slammed the car door shut and signaled to a black and white as it pulled into the parking lot with its lights flashing to take care of the perp for him before he returned to the restaurant.

  As he walked into the restaurant he found Marty talking to a few children who looked upset. She'd turned into a very kind woman, he thought as he walked up to the counter, noting the three very nervous employees.

  "C-c-c-can I h-help you, officer?" the teenager with pink striped hair asked.

  "Ice," he said through clenched teeth.

  "Ice?" she repeated, sounding confused as she shot her co-workers a questioning look.

  "Yes, ice and lots of it," he said as the pain doubled, almost dropping him to his knees. What a fucked up night. It really couldn't get any worse, he thought as he watched the three anxious employees stumble over each other as they tried to fill his order.

  "See! I told you we'd find him!"

  "No, I told you! Besides, I'm the one who found him."

  "You're such a liar!"

  "You're such a slut!"

  "Takes one to know one!"

  The bimbo twins had found him, he realized with a groan. This really was not his night.

  Chapter 18

  "Are you sure you're okay?"

  "Fine," Tristan said distractedly as he opened his car door and carefully climbed out.


  With a sigh, she pulled the keys out of the ignition, grabbed her purse and did the same. She was more than ready to put this whole bizarre day behind her. Her day had started with harassing phone calls, Tristan stealing her much needed apple fritter and dealing with his asshole ways. It hadn't exactly been a pleasant experience. If that wasn't bad enough he decided to end the day by confusing her and acting like he wanted her.

  That is until all hell broke loose at her favorite barbeque restaurant. She still couldn't figure out how Tristan not only knew who the guy was from just a look at the man's back, but also knew what he was up to. The whole thing had been scary and admittedly impressive. Tristan had moved with the confidence of a man twice his age and even when it was more than obvious to everyone that he was injured, he still did his job and kept them all safe. It also didn't hurt that the whole thing made him look incredibly sexy and she hadn’t been the only one who’d thought so.

  While he'd pointedly ignored the paramedics’ demands that he be seen at the hospital, every single woman there and a few she was pretty sure weren't so single, fussed over him and offered to make him a homemade meal as a thank you. A few of the more forward women had leaned in and whispered something in his ear that seemed to annoy him, which somewhat appeased her since she had a pretty good idea what they were offering him.

  She hated not being able to fuss over him and comfort him. She really hated watching other women do it, but she didn't have much of a choice in the matter. He'd made it very clear that he didn't care about her. He wanted her that much was obvious, but he really didn't care for her. She knew that wouldn't bother some women enough to keep them from giving into years of fantasies, but she just couldn't make love to a man who didn't give a damn about anyone, including her.

  "I'll see you tomorrow morning at seven-thirty," she said as she turned to make the short walk home. Since he couldn't make it to tonight’s group therapy session, her father had decided that he would attend the meeting in the morning or he shouldn't bother showing up to work until he was cleared to return to full duty.

  "Why don't you come inside?" he suggested, surprising her.

  "Why?" she asked, not bothering to hide the suspicion from her tone.

  "Because I think we need to have a talk," he said, gesturing for her to come with him.

  She let out a tired sigh as she shook her head. "Sorry, but I'm really not in the mood for a lecture tonight or whatever it is that you have planned," she said, once again heading towards her house, but she didn't get very far.

  "We're not putting this off any longer," Tristan said as he took her hand and gave it a gentle pull in the direction of his house.

  "Putting off what any longer?" she asked, wondering exactly what he planned on yelling at her about now. Was he pissed that she hadn’t run out of the restaurant when he’d told her to? Or maybe he was going to try bullying her into vacating their office. Then again, he might just want to take this opportunity to tell her that he didn't care what Hank said, he wouldn't be following any of the rules. If it was the latter then they really didn't need to have this talk, because she’d already figured out that he was going to make her life a living hell and do everything that he could to get her fired.

  "We need to talk about-"

  "Is that....is that porno music?" she asked, cutting him off and frowning as she tried to make out the music coming from the other side of his front door.

  "No," he said through what looked like a painfully clenched jaw. "I keep the television on to make burglars think that someone's home," he explained tightly as he dropped her hand and pulled out his keys.

  "I see," she said, doing her best to hide her smile. "By making them think that someone is enjoying some alone time?" she asked sweetly as he glowered down at her.

  "No."

  "If you say so.........," she said with a shrug that clearly stated that she didn't believe him.

  "I don't watch that shit," he said a little loudly as he opened the front door with a lot more noise than she thought was really necessary. Before she could tease him again the music abruptly changed to the theme from Gilligan's Island.

  He sent her a triumphant grin as he closed the door behind them and walked down the hall, pausing only long enough to send a rather odd glare at something in the empty living room. Okay, that was a little weird, she thought as she reluctantly followed after him.

  "Do you mind telling me what you need to talk to me about so that I can get on with the rest of my night and maybe get something to eat?" she asked as she followed him into the obscenely large kitchen. It really was too big for a bachelor.

  "We can eat while we talk," he said, opening the freezer door and pulling out a white container overflowing with ice cubes. He placed the container on the counter, uncaring that ice went flying as he grabbed a kitchen towel and began filling it with ice.

  "It's been a long day, Tristan. Any chance that we can just get to the point?" she asked with a tired sigh as she walked over to the counter and took over the chore of filling the cloth with ice.

  "You don't want to eat first?" Tristan asked, sounding a bit nervous.

  What exactly did he have to be nervous about, she wondered as he gave her what appeared to be a hopeful smile. Whatever it was, Tristan clearly wanted to put it off for a while. Who would have ever thought the day would come when Tristan Black was nervous about anything? She certainly hadn't. He wanted to put off whatever it was that he wanted to talk about so of course she decided that she was rather anxious to hear it now.

  "No, I think we should talk about it now," she said, biting back another smile as he opened his mouth only to shut it abruptly.

  "Well?" she asked, cocking an expectant brow.

  He cleared his throat, obviously trying to stall for time as he focused all of his attention on unbuttoning his shirt. "I could fire up the grill," he offered, trying to use her love for barbecue against her.

  "No, that's fine. I'd rather hear what you have to say," she said with a little sigh as she gently pushed his hand away and finished unbuttoning his shirt for him. Once she was done, she pulled the shirt out of his pants and moved to push the shirt off when she spotted an angry bruise poking out from beneath the edge of his shirt.

  "Oh my god, Tristan" she said, while quickly, yet carefully, removing his shirt so that she could see the extent of the damage.

  A large bruise that looked fresh started just above the left side of his chest and went all the way up to his shoulder. She wasn't a medical professional or anything, but it looked painful and definitely like something that should be looked at by a doctor. He winced as she helped him remove his shirt off his left arm, but other than that he didn't complain, not that she actually expected him to. This was Tristan Black after all.

  "You need to go to the hospital," she said, moving behind him to see the extent of the damage. She was glad that he was looking the other way so that he didn't see her cringe. Both sides were pretty bruised, but the top of his shoulder and back clearly got the worst of it.

  "Not necessary," he said, grabbing the ice pack and placing it against his chest.

  "It's very necessary, Tristan. You really hurt yourself," she said as she considered calling his father and brother so they could take a look at it and if needed, drag him off to the hospital.

  "It's fine, Marty," he said, walking over to the refrigerator. He placed his homemade ice pack on top of the fridge and opened the door. "You want a beer or a Coke?"

  "Nothing," she told him. "I want you to go the hospital and get that thing checked out."

  What if he’d really damaged his arm? He could have torn something or aggravated his still healing wound. Ignoring it wasn't an option, but apparently that's exactly what Tristan planned on doing.

  "Coke it is," he said, grabbing two Cokes with his right hand and placing them on the counter. He managed to open his Coke with his right hand before he grabbed the ice pack and placed it back against his chest. Then as if to prove that he really wasn't hurt, he
picked up his soda with his left hand and proceeded to drink it while she glared at him.

  "Get your butt back in the car, Tristan. We're going to the hospital," she said, deciding that she'd see if she could manage to get him there by herself before she called in the big guns.

  "No," he simply said as he walked past her. He placed his soda on the table and pulled out a chair, trying to hide his grimace as he sat down.

  "I'm not kidding, Tristan. Get your butt in that car, now," she said firmly, hoping that would be enough to get him to move his ass. Apparently it wasn't, because he only chuckled as he leaned back in his chair, careful of his shoulder.

  "Or what?" he asked with a slow sexy smile that made her mouth go dry and made it difficult to think, never mind do what needed to be done.

  "If you don't want barbeque, then we could always order in," Tristan suggested, giving her the distraction that she needed.

  "We're not ordering in, Tristan," she said with a sigh as she unzipped her purse and grabbed her phone.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Calling your father and brother, because clearly I'm in over my head here and you're an idiot. I'm going to call them and let them drag you to the hosp-hey!" she gasped as he plucked the phone out of her hands and placed it in his pocket.

  "Give that back," she said, holding her hand out expectantly.

  "Sorry. Can't do that, Marty," he said, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his impressive chest.

  "You're going to the hospital," she informed him as she considered the odds of being able to steal the phone away from him.