Command Indecision (Lexi Graves Mysteries)

by Camilla Chafer

  Solomon unbuttoned his shirt and managed to shrug it off one arm. "Help me get it off," he said as I bit my lip at the sight of his bruised torso. It had just started to color. By the morning, he would be a drab rainbow of black and blue. "My shoulder's stiff."

  I ran my hand over his shoulder, catching the material between my fingers and tugging it down. Try as I might to ignore it, I couldn't help noticing how close we were together, how I was undressing him while he looked at me with smoky eyes, his face unreadable. When I tugged the shirt over his hand, freeing him, his hands went to his ribs, pressing and palpating the flesh. I waited, my breathing steady, but when I went to step away, he caught my wrist with his arm and stood, holding my eyes as he rose above me.

  "Nothing broken," he said, his voice husky. "Guess I'll live."

  I didn't fancy his assailants’ chances when Solomon repaid the favor. Right now, I fought to keep my focus on the situation that put Solomon in this position, rather than his strong chest or the way he looked up at me from his position, his expression fiery.

  "Did you see who did it?"

  "No. But there were two of them. They jumped me from behind." He inhaled deeply and winced, but didn’t complain. “Got in a few blows when they got me on the ground. Didn’t stick around to see it through.”

  I balled a fist at my side, stopping myself from placing a hand on his chest, from folding myself against him, or giving him a hug that was more to reassure me that he was fine than him. Whoever his assailants were, they didn't come for a fair fight. Jumping him in the dusk was just dirty. Panic gripped me like a vise tightening around my heart. What if they had been armed with knives or guns? Solomon could be on the ground somewhere, bleeding out or dead, and I wouldn't have known. I wouldn't have been able to help him.

  "It was a warning," he said, reading the fear in my eyes. "If they wanted to kill me, I'd be dead." He released my hand and rose, stepping around me, moving bare-chested into the living room.

  I waited a moment, unplugged the sink and watched the bloody water swirl away, then rinsed again. I wrung out the stained flannel and set it to dry. Steeling myself, I followed Solomon through the living room as he walked stiffly into the bedroom. I paused in the doorway as he sat on the bed, trying not to wince as he cringed when he sat. Then he leaned forwards and pulled off his socks and boots, tossing them onto the thin carpet.

  "I met Roxanne Connor today," I told him, for something to say as much as to fill him in.

  He didn’t look up. "And?"

  "Well, I didn't so much meet her as she came by. She wanted to take a look at Jillian's computer. Said something about a file, something Jillian was supposed to send her. I think she was lying."

  Solomon peeled off a sock and glance up. "Why's that?"

  "Too much back story explanation about the file to be true. Could Lucas look into the computer?"

  "Highly illegal to hack into the Army network. Plus, it will be easier if you ask Mitch tomorrow if you can have Jillian's password. If he won't give it to you, ask him to take a look."

  "Okay. Um... What are you doing?" I asked as I watched Solomon pull back the covers.

  This time, he glanced upwards. "Going to bed."

  "Um..." I flicked a glance at the couch. No, he was right, it was unreasonable to even consider suggesting that. I opened my mouth to tell him I would take the couch.

  "I just got beat up, Lexi, and I've already got a back ache from sleeping on that." He stood, unzipped his pants and pushed them down, revealing an eye watering, nice pair of thighs. Stepping out of them, he kicked them into the corner atop his discarded boots. I looked up to the ceiling, glanced back down, took another quick look at his muscular legs, purely for research purposes, and looked straight up at the ceiling again. "So I'm going to sleep in the bed," he finished as he slid in, groaning lightly as his head hit the pillow. "You can sleep on the couch or get in," he added darkly when I didn't move from my position by the door. His eyes shut and I looked at him, frozen, suddenly unable to articulate anything above a squeak.

  Instead, I left the room, shaking.

  For want of anything better to do, I made a hot tea, then a slice of toast, moving around the kitchen like I had ADHD, not quite able to settle on anything. I ate my toast leaning over the counter and sipped a bottle of water as my tea cooled. I was neither particularly hungry, nor thirsty, but the motions stopped me from having to think about where I was going to sleep, given the turn of events. I could take the couch, but it didn't look exactly comfortable and I felt pretty mean leaving Solomon to sleep there as it was. There was the floor, which wasn't an option, given that, well, I didn't want to sleep on the floor.

  That left getting into bed with Solomon.

  I weighed up the pros and cons. Cons first. Solomon was delectable. Which wasn’t that much of a con, I decided. Pros, he was injured and that ruled out anything happening. Except, what if...? No. No what ifs. He was a friend, a boss. Sleeping in the same bed didn't have to come down to pros or cons.

  I could share a bed with a friend. No problem.

  And I was tired.

  I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes had passed since our conversation. Well, since Solomon told me it was joining him in bed or me sleeping elsewhere; it probably didn't count as a conversation anywhere beyond my own head. Would he think I was overeager if I got in now? Maybe he passed out already. Maybe it would be better if I did get in with him so I could help if he was in pain during the night? Well, only pain above the waist. I wasn't going to be responsible for anything below. By the time I made my mind up, I felt as benevolent as Florence Nightingale, and before I could change it, I put my plate and mug in the sink and walked through to the bedroom, pausing again in the doorway, suddenly hesitant.

  Solomon's eyes were shut, his breathing regular. Probably asleep. Hopefully, asleep. I checked my pajama buttons were all in good order as I approached, sliding as gently as I could manage under the covers. Unhooking my watch, I put it on the nightstand. For a while, I lay rigid, fully aware that Solomon was naked, but for a pair of boxers, only a few inches away.

  Rolling onto my side, careful not to wake him, I closed my eyes, listening to the sounds of the apartment, the floorboards creaking, the sound of a car engine in the distance, Solomon's breathing.

  Solomon's arm folded over me and he moved closer, pressing his warm body against mine. I felt his breath against the back of my neck. He didn't say a word.

  Neither did I.

  After a while, I relaxed, though I lay awake a long time, listening to the quiet noises of a base falling asleep. So he had his arm around me? No matter what Lily would say, it was kind of... nice. Reassuring. Warm. I hadn't given Solomon the credit of thinking he would be comforting while I tried to mend my broken heart, but he had certainly given me that. The job kept me occupied and away from home. I wasn't checking my cell phone every five minutes anymore and I still hadn't spoken to Maddox, thank goodness.

  With Solomon's kiss at the gym, I had something else to think about, even if I swayed between lust and outright panic. Now, with Solomon's arm wrapped around me, his body not quite so platonically pressed against mine, I couldn't help thinking my feelings were all over the place. By the time my eyelids started to droop, the rise and fall of my chest matching his, I was grateful he didn't make a move, because I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. For now, I was just grateful that he wasn't severely hurt and he was with me, and that the unexpected beating hadn’t taken him out of commission. Of course, if I were being positive, it also meant Solomon had ignited worries in someone.

  As for anything else, I would figure it out later.

  Chapter Eleven

  In the wake of the Solomon incident, as I now thought of it—that is, him getting beaten up, not sharing a bed with me—we decided to keep a low profile for the next few days. We left Fletcher to continue surveillance of the Connors' property while I cried off work. Solomon took a sick day to allow his body time to adjust to the bruising across his torso
.

  Solomon hypothesized he'd asked a few too many questions around the gym, along with his visit to Tate somehow getting out. I called him a rookie. But in my heart, I was relieved he escaped with nothing more than a cut on his cheek and bruised ribs, having gotten in a few decent blows before anything worse could happen. Not that I would admit it to him, but the attack made me jittery. If they had the audacity to pick on a man the size of Solomon, what would stop them from going after me next?

  When I returned the following day, Mitch and I spent an hour going through Jillian's desktop files, but nothing sprang out. I figured it was a dead end. Roxanne could have lied. Or it could be anything. Without a diagnostic script, which Mitch categorically stated was a no, or knowing what we were looking for, it was impossible to wade through the information. Even if there were a file, it could be hidden or encrypted. I had two days left in Mitch's office, which consisted mostly of filing, answering the phone and taking messages. Solomon put in his hours at the gym, mentioning he was steering clear of sparring when it looked like I was going to ask.

  "You sure there's something there?" Mitch asked me. I was in his office under the pretence of taking notes. My current colleagues didn't give me a second glance as he shut the door to his office behind us.

  "That's what she said."

  "I don't see anything that isn't her regular work.” Mitch held up his hands and shrugged, giving me an apologetic smile. “Jillian never used her work email for personal stuff, but I checked anyway."

  "I'll get Lucas to hack her personal email again."

  "I could call Roxanne over and get her to talk," Mitch suggested.

  I shook my head. I didn't think Roxanne would talk one bit, not if she were worried about something, as she appeared to be. "Let me approach her," I said. "Maybe she'll talk to someone she considers impartial. Unconnected." I couldn't think why she would talk to me otherwise.

  "Solomon going to be okay?" Mitch asked. I looked at him in surprise. "He keeps me updated," Mitch explained. "Gotta say, I'm not happy he was jumped. I went over where it happened an hour ago. Wouldn't you know it? It was a blind spot. No cameras." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I hate to suspect the men here. These are my colleagues."

  "Sometimes you have to suspect everyone," I said. It was a sobering thought. “But yes, he’ll be fine. It wasn’t as bad as it initially looked and nothing’s broken.”

  Given that night, I actually started to look forward to the moment the clock hit home time, especially since Solomon took it upon himself to meet me at the door, walking me home. Not that I would ask, but I think he was worried he'd drawn attention to me as well as himself.

  By the time my shift ended, I was straight out the door, smiling when I saw Solomon lounging against the wall, hands in pockets, wearing gym gear. Black pants, a loose black t-shirt, black sneakers. Someone didn't wash his whites, clearly. The facial cut had already begun to knit. He held out his hand and I took it, my hand sliding easily into his big one as his fingers closed around mine.

  "How was your day?"

  "This is getting weird," I blurted.

  "Something happen?" Solomon’s forehead furrowed with concern and he glanced back at the office doors.

  "No. I meant, this 'how was your day' stuff is weird."

  He raised an eyebrow. "How else do you want me to ask you?"

  "Urgh!" I dropped his hand and strode off. Solomon could have been trying to be deliberately obtuse, but I wasn't sure. My head was in too much of a muddle. I didn't want to fall out of one relationship, and straight into a fake one. The hand-holding and the sleeping in the same bed were getting to me. Since that night, Solomon apparently decided sleeping in the same bed was the way to go, and I didn't tell him to get lost. Truth was, I liked it. I liked being close to him. I liked waking up to find him wrapped around me, or like this morning… I woke up with my leg over his, my arm stretched across his torso and his hand stroking the small of my back, just inside my pajamas. I could protest that I was too sleepy to move, but actually, it felt too damn comfortable being next to him. So far, neither of us mentioned it. If tonight were the same, I might suppose we were falling into an easy pattern. It probably needed discussing, but I wasn't going to be the one to bring it up. Instead, I chose to be cross. It was easier than being mature.

  Part of me struggled with feeling guilty, like it was too soon after Maddox to even think about another man. And part of me said, what the hell! Maddox didn’t think about my feelings when he kissed someone else.

  I didn't know which of those things made me angry enough to drive forward, but I strode on. Solomon caught up and fell silently into stride next to me, but he didn't try to take my hand again.

  At our building, I jogged up the steps ahead of him, unlocking the apartment door and grabbing my laptop. I switched it on, hoping to lose myself in the case, rather than concentrate on why my heart pounded furiously in my chest every time Solomon was near.

  Solomon, mercifully, stayed quiet. I ignored him as he went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, but I felt his eyes on me. Probably wondering why I was being a loon.

  Instead of torturing myself with “what ifs,” I checked my emails. There was one from Lily saying she and Jord were moving in together, which surprised me. I did a small, mental grimace at the thought of Jord moving into the apartment below mine, thus giving him the vantage of knowing where I was and when. I was probably being silly. Jord had about as much interest in my whereabouts, and who stayed over at my apartment as I had in his movements. He probably wouldn’t snitch to my mom. Mostly, I was just happy that Lily was blissful and had gotten what she wanted. I fired off a short email to that effect.

  There was a brief note from Lucas, with Solomon copied in, saying he was still tracing the strange deposits into Jillian's account and he suspected laundering. The length of time Lucas was taking puzzled me. I glanced up at Solomon and saw him staring at his phone, so I figured he was reading the same email.

  "How long does it normally take to trace laundered money?" I asked, glad we had the case to talk about. Safe ground. Not sexy grounds.

  Solomon spoke without looking up. "Depends on how often and how many times the money's been moved, as well as how it was moved."

  “Is it ever untraceable?”

  He glanced at me. “Of course. But I didn’t employ Lucas to fail.”

  I didn't have any notes to write up, given that the day was a washout. What I wanted to do was grab a glass of wine, put on the TV and lose myself in a movie, anything to keep my mind off Solomon. Instead, I waited for him to say we had some kind of lead, or something to check out. Ticking off my list on mental fingers, I tried to get ahead of him. We already checked out Jillian's office and crime scene, her apartment, the on base bars and eateries, and her computer. I'd seen Roxanne, but had yet to make contact given that she hadn’t put in another appearance at Fort Charles.

  On the flip side, Solomon was getting to know Tate's fellow soldiers and anyone he might have met at the gym. It didn't seem Tate was particularly tight with anyone. Solomon told me the impression he got was Tate was friendly enough, but a loner. He hung out with the guys, but with no particular crowd. Gossip was hard to get out of men—they just didn’t play fair like that—but Solomon had been working that angle in the gym. He tried to appear blasé about it, casually inquiring, curious about the base’s one big shock. The advantage of his strategy was in helping us deduce it must have been someone he spoke to. Problem was, as Solomon pointed out, the list was extensive.

  What was left? A visit to Jillian's sister, Roxanne. Tate's family lived far away; and then there were Jillian's parents. It was conceivable that they knew something, possibly that their daughter might have mentioned having problems with someone on base. It made sense to visit them.

  "Humph."

  Solomon said nothing.

  I shut my laptop and started for the kitchen. "What now?" I asked Solomon as I began to pass him, halting when his arm shot out,
stopping me. Pausing, I held still, not daring to look up, much less meet his eyes. Again, I waited for him to speak, but he said nothing. He just slipped his phone into his pocket. I was being silly. He probably wanted to talk about work. He was a man. He didn’t analyze. He was sleeping in the bed because he was hurt and it was comfortable. I chanced a glance upwards and caught his smoky gaze. With a gentle tug, he drew me to him.

  And this time, he kissed me.

  There had been a lot of surprises lately; but this definitely topped the list of super awesome ones. That it was a short list didn't matter to me one bit. The kiss was points ahead of anything else when his tongue met mine.

  Whipping me around, he pressed me against the wall. "What now?” he repeated as his hand brushed my cheek. “This.” He kissed me again.

  Well, I didn't need to be asked twice.

  After all, I’m not a total idiot.

  My hands moved to his back, holding him to me. I returned his kiss with every ounce of passion and fire he ignited. My breath shortened and my head swam. Electricity sizzled in my veins as his hands slid under my shirt, connecting with my cool flesh, and running the lengths of my sides. His kiss deepened and lengthened. My hands knotted in his shirt and I felt the powerful muscles of his back shift and flex as he pressed himself against me, his lips traveling from my mouth, to my jaw, to my neck, and back again.

  I don't know how long we stood there, but as my knees started to buckle, Solomon stepped backwards, taking me with him. We were soon stumbling towards the bedroom, all roaming hands and urgency. In the doorway, Solomon pulled his t-shirt over his head, then his fingers worked with mine to undo my buttons. He pushed my shirt down my arms, his hands returning to the curve of my waist.

  I raised my hands to his jaw, my fingers sliding over his cheeks, holding him to me, kissing him as his hands rose over the swell of my breasts. His fingers deftly slid under the fabric, causing a sigh to escape me, before managing to unhook my bra.