Luke: A West Bend Saints Romance

by Paige, Sabrina

  A man in uniform with a stomach that protruded well over his waistband sat at a desk across the room, checking sports scores on his computer. He grunted a response without looking away.

  I gave her my most professional smile. "That's what happens when you have an attorney on retainer," I said. "And I'd like to know what my client's being charged with."

  "Well, Ms. McAdams," she said, leaning forward, her arms on the desk. "Being an attorney, you know that it takes time to process the prisoners. Silas Saint is not processed yet." I exhaled when I heard his name. So it was Silas. The way she talked about him made him sound like a turkey in the oven, like he wasn't finished cooking. "You haven't even shown me your credentials. And you don't look old enough to be a lawyer. And you're wearing jeans."

  "Well, Ms. Edwards," I said, reading from her nameplate and mimicking her tone. "Imagine being on vacation from LA, here in this idyllic little town, enjoying a croissant and the escape from the constant demands of your law firm. Then, imagine you learn that a client of yours - a dear client, one of your best clients - has a brother in law who's been unjustly arrested."

  "You're River Andrews' attorney?" she asked, glancing behind her at Daryl.

  "Don't ask for help from Daryl, Officer Edwards," I said. "I'm simply asking you to rely on your powers of imagination. Imagine what you would think, as that attorney. Perhaps you'd surmise that this is a larger campaign of harassment against your client and those who are important to her. Perhaps you'd even begin to think about the various and sundry ways you could bring suit against the sheriff's department for their denial of Mr. Saint's Constitutional rights. Perhaps you'd even consider the personal lawsuits you could file. Can you imagine that scenario with me, Officer Edwards?"

  The woman looked nervous, turning again to Daryl, and I hid a smile as I reached into my wallet and drew out my bar card, the fake that was a part of Molly's identity kit. I said a silent thank you to the grifter gods that I'd chosen this particular identity. Molly had never used her fake bar card that identified her as an attorney, but there was a first time for everything.

  I set it down on the counter, and she looked at it. "Now, you know that my client has a right to counsel. I'd hate to think that you were infringing on his rights. I'd also hate to think that I'd have to call a friend in the media. They do so love these stories about small-town abuse of power."

  When in doubt, invoke media threats.

  I hoped I sounded enough like an attorney to be passable.

  Daryl finally looked up from his computer. "Come on, Ruby," he said. "Let her talk to him. You know he's done gone through processing. We don't need any bullshit."

  The female officer scowled. "Daryl, you know Sherriff Easton brought him in himself. You want to deal with him when he finds out you okayed a big-city lawyer coming in here?"

  "Don't worry, Daryl," I said. "I see you being cast in the newspaper articles as the dedicated officer who held strong against rampant abuse of power and corruption in the sheriff’s department. The story virtually writes itself."

  Daryl ignored me. "Just let her back there, Ruby," he said. "You know we ain't got nobody else in there except Mr. Jenkins, and he's in the drunk tank. Silas Saint is going to get bailed out anyway now that his brother's with that movie star."

  I leaned forward, my arms on the counter. "He is, Ruby."

  Her expression softened, and she sighed. "Fine." She paused for a moment, and then leaned in closer. "So you're River Andrews' attorney, then? I bet you know a lot of movie stars, right?"

  I shook my head, raising a finger to my lips. "I can't answer that question, Officer Edwards," I said. "Attorney-client privilege and all."

  I couldn't even remember if attorney-client privilege applied to this scenario, if it was similar to how shrinks couldn't tell you if someone was their client. But Ruby seemed to buy the answer.

  She stood up, stepped away from the counter, a disappointed expression on her face, so I decided to throw her a bone.

  "Although, just between you and me," I said, lowering my voice conspiratorially, "I might know someone who represents that big movie star, the one who was just arrested for having sex with a prostitute in London a few weeks ago."

  Ruby's eyes widened. "I just couldn't believe that," she said. "He always seemed like such a nice guy in his movies. I guess you never really know whether people are pulling one over on you."

  "No, Ruby," I said, shaking my head. "You certainly do not. There are a lot of deceptive people in this world." I slid my fake bar card back into its place in Molly's wallet.

  "You don't have to tell me that," she said. “I'll bring you back. You'll have to leave your purse and cell phone here. Pen and notepad only."

  Fifteen minutes later, Ruby was leading me down the hallway to a room. "We don't have all the bells and whistles like the bigger places," she said. "But this one of our interrogation rooms. It doubles as a visiting room. The sound is off, obviously, so we can't listen in, legally speaking. But you'll be on the closed-circuit video up front, just in case anything goes wrong."

  I looked through the small square window at the top of the door, where Silas sat in a jumpsuit, his hands cuffed and resting on the aluminum table. "Can the cuffs be removed?"

  She shook her head. "Sorry, Ms. McAdams," she said. "We have to follow protocol. I'll be up front if you need anything. The panic button is on the wall. Keep yourself closest to the door; the prisoner remains in the seat furthest from the door. Don't give the prisoner anything, even a pen. I'm sure you know all of the rules already - it's all standard stuff."

  "Of course," I said, looking at the window again.

  She pulled open the door. "Saint," she said. "Your attorney is here."

  To his credit, Silas remained poker-faced.

  "Thank you, Ruby," I said, walking to the table, pen and paper in hand. The door slammed closed behind me.

  "Attorney?" Silas asked. "Is that what you are?"

  "When it suits me," I said. "And sometimes when I have to get a friend out of a jam."

  "Friend?" Silas asked. "Don't call me that shit. We're not friends, you and I."

  I bristled at his statement. "That's fucking hateful, Silas," I said. "We used to be friends, a long time ago."

  Silas leaned forward. "I never wanted to be just friends, Tempest," he said.

  I swallowed hard, the implication of his words sinking in. I didn't need to hear Silas say he wanted something more with me.

  "Well, we're not friends, Silas. Friends tell each other things. Like the fact that they still live in their hometowns." The words sounded more abrasive than I intended, and I regretted them as soon as they came out of my mouth.

  Silas' eyes narrowed, and his voice was hard. "You didn't exactly say you were coming back to West Bend. So what the hell are you doing here, Ms. McAdams?"

  ***

  PART THREE

  For there we loved, and where we love is home,

  Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.

  ~ Oliver Wendall Holmes, Sr., Homesick in Heaven

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  SILAS

  "What am I doing here?" she asked. "You sound like you're not happy I showed up. To help you, I might add."

  I laughed. "Happy?" I didn't know how the hell I felt about Tempest showing up here. But happy? That definitely wasn't the word for it. That was way too fucking uncomplicated a word for the complicated bullshit we had between us.

  I couldn't decide if I wanted to rip her clothes off and make her mine, or tell her I never wanted to see her again.

  "I'm here getting your ass out of a jam," Tempest continued. "You should be on your knees, thanking me."

  I couldn't help but smirk. The image of Tempest on her knees between my legs, taking my cock in her mouth, immediately flashed in my mind's eye.

  I could feel my cock getting hard at the thought of her lips wrapped around me, even though I was sitting here in jail. That was some kind of messed up.

 
"Give me a couple hours," I said, leaning forward, my voice low. "And I'll be on my knees expressing my gratitude with my tongue."

  She narrowed her eyes, but I noticed a flush rise to her cheeks. "That assumes I'm interested in your expression of gratitude."

  "Oh, bright eyes, come on," I said. "Don't pretend like you're immune to what happened between us."

  "What happened between us was a one-time thing," she said. "Closure."

  "And yet, here you are, sitting here across the table from me," I said. "In West Bend, Colorado. In jail. Pretending to be my attorney."

  "This is my good deed for the year," she said. "I need some good karma."

  "Charity?" I asked. "That doesn't seem very fitting for a con artist, does it?"

  She looked at me, her lips parted, like she was about to come back with a quick-witted response. But instead, she asked, "Are you going to tell me why you got arrested?"

  "Are you going to continue this whole attorney charade?" I asked.

  "You don't know whether I'm a lawyer or not," she said. "We've been apart for years, Silas. I could have gone to law school."

  "Did you?"

  She smiled. "No," she said. "But I've got a bar card in my purse that says I'm a member of the American Bar Association and a practicing attorney."

  I couldn't help but laugh. "Of course you do," I said. "Well, I'm not in a jam that I need your help with, Tempest."

  She shrugged. "You're the one in jail, not me," she said. "I just figured I'd stop by and offer my services, post your bail if you need it. I'm sure your cell mate will be more than happy to have you stay longer."

  I laughed. "We're in West Bend, not Vegas," I said. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

  "That's all I needed to know, then," she said, rising. "I'll let them know we're finished."

  I sighed. "Wait."

  Tempest turned back toward me, eyebrows raised. "Yes?"

  "Sit down," I said.

  "You're awful bossy for someone in handcuffs," she said. "Are you sure you want to be ordering me around? I could just leave."

  "You could," I said. "But you don't want to leave. You're still thinking about how good we were together in Vegas, aren't you?"

  She stood, motionless, except for that thing she did where she flicked her tongue over her lower lip.

  The thing that made me crazy.

  "I haven't given it a moment's thought," she said.

  "No?" I asked. "Because I have. In fact, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

  The door opened, and a female officer poked her head inside. "Are you already finished?" she asked.

  "No," Tempest said. "I was just stretching my legs. I'll be more cognizant of remaining seated. Thank you, Officer Edwards." She sank back into her chair. "You've been thinking about it."

  I wasn't sure if she was making a statement or asking a question. "Of course I've been thinking about it," I said. "I can't stop thinking about how you taste."

  "Tell me what happened," she said. "Tell me why you got arrested."

  I ignored her, unable to resist playing with her a little bit. "I can't stop thinking about putting my head between your legs," I said. "Running my tongue over your pussy, taking your clit in my mouth, sucking it in."

  "Silas," she said, her voice stern. But she shifted in her chair, and her pupils were dilated. "Why did you get arrested?"

  I still ignored her. "I can't stop thinking about sucking on that sweet clit, sliding my fingers inside you and bringing you to the point where you're begging for my cock." I paused. "Why are you in West Bend, Tempest?"

  She inhaled, her lips slightly parted. "Visiting my grandmother, Silas."

  I wasn't sure if she was being honest or not. In fact, that was the whole problem with me and her. I couldn't tell when she was lying. She was a con artist, just like her parents. I didn't know if she was even capable of being genuine.

  "Now, you, Silas," she said. "The arrest. What happened?"

  "How did you know I was here?" I asked.

  "My Nana," she said. "She heard it on her police scanner at the nursing home."

  "I was asking seriously, Tempest," I said.

  "That's the truth," she said. "Hand to God. My Nana and her friends like to listen to the police scanner because they're little old busybodies. She called me."

  I laughed, and then so did she, the tension between us suddenly dissipating, aided by an old lady and her police scanner.

  "Now you," she said. "Why were you arrested?"

  "I was at my mother's house," I said. "Jed - the town sheriff - showed up, we got into it - just shit talking - and he pulled a weapon on me and arrested me. It's bullshit. Which is why I'm not worried about it. The charges won't stick."

  "I didn't know about your mother, Silas," she said. "My grandmother told me. I was sorry to hear about what happened."

  I shrugged. "You remember her, how she was," I said. "It's not like I was close to her. And then, finding out the shit she pulled with you and I...she was the only one who would have taken that letter and the money. When it happened, it tore me up. And she's the one who caused it."

  "Still," Tempest said.

  "Yeah."

  "My grandmother said it was an overdose."

  I clenched my jaw. "So they say."

  "You don't believe that?" she asked.

  "I don't know what the hell to believe," I said. "I don't know what the fuck is going on in this town anymore."

  Tempest gave me a long look. "Huh."

  "Huh, what?" I asked.

  "That's exactly what my Nana said," Tempest said. She tapped her pen against her notebook, looking at me thoughtfully.

  ***

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  TEMPEST

  "You don't even look like you spent the night in jail," I joked. "You're positively radiant."

  "I feel fucking radiant," Silas said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. Dark circles lined his eyes. "Thanks for bailing me out. Even though you didn't come to the hearing."

  "You're welcome," I said, grinning. "It was an easy bailout, since you were released on your own recognizance. I'd do it anytime."

  "What's the helmet for?"

  We stepped out onto the street. "My ride," I said. "Your ride."

  "You're going to take me home on your bicycle?" he asked.

  "If by bicycle, you mean motorcycle, then yeah," I said, pointing to my bike. "That's my ride, right over there."

  "Are you kidding?" he asked.

  I shook my head. "Nope," I said. "Take it or leave it."

  "Holy shit," he said. "This is a nice fucking bike. What is this, a Harley?"

  "Yep, a Road King. Hop on," I said. "I've only got my helmet, so I hope you're fine without one."

  "I have a thick skull. But you're going to make me ride bitch?" he asked. But he was grinning. "All right, I can dig it. As long as I'm your bitch."

  "My bike, my rules." I threw my leg over the bike and waited as Silas slid behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. Then he slid his hands up further, cupping my breasts, and leaned in close to whisper in my ear.

  "I like a woman who takes control," he said.

  I slapped his hands off my breasts. "Just shut up and hang on."

  ***

  "Do you want to come inside?" Silas asked, the moment suddenly awkward.

  We stood there at the bottom of the stairs that led up to his garage apartment, like two people lingering at the end of the night on a first date, deciding whether we should go all the way or not.

  "I -" I started to speak, but Silas interrupted me.

  "I'd like you to come up," he said, stepping in close to me. "The apartment isn't much, just this place I'm renting from my old coach. It's nothing fancy. Not like Vegas, I mean."

  "I'm not sure it's a good idea, Silas." My breath caught in my throat, my heart racing at my proximity to him. "You and me. I can't..."

  I didn't even know what to say. There were so many "I cant’s"...

  I can't stay in We
st Bend. With you.

  I can't stop being a grifter. I am who I am.

  I can't be honest. I don't know how.

  I can't love you. I don't believe in love.

  "You're the one who came back to West Bend, Tempest," he said, the intensity of his gaze unnerving me. "Are you going to tell me the only reason you showed up here was to visit your grandmother? After all this time?"

  "I thought you lived in Vegas," I said. But my words sounded lame, even to me.

  "Bullshit," he said. "That might be what you told yourself."

  I shrugged. "It's the truth."

  I was lying.

  "Tempest Wilde, I'm being polite as hell right now," he said. "I'm asking, like a gentleman and everything, would you come up to my place? What I should be doing is picking you up, putting you over my shoulder, and slapping the hell out of that curvy ass of yours."

  I laughed, but Silas had a way of talking dirty that made me want to do exactly what he wanted. "A gentleman is the last thing on earth you are, Silas Saint."

  "You're damn right," he said. "And I'm telling you right now that I want you to come up to my place."

  "And then what, Silas?" I asked.

  He stepped closer to me, his mouth near my ear. "And then I'm going to make what I did to you in Vegas look like nothing."

  Heat flowed through my body, the warmth of his breath on my neck sending goose bumps across my skin. "Silas," I said, still hesitating.

  Hesitating until he touched his lips to my neck, right on the spot near my ear that always sent shivers down my spine. I let out a soft moan as he dragged his lips along my jawline, then covered my mouth with his. The way he kissed me made my knees weak, and I melted against him.

  I was so heady with desire that I barely protested when Silas reached behind me, his arm at my knees, and picked me up, taking me up the stairs. "I told you I was going to pick you up and carry you inside," he said. "I warned you."

  I should have just been consumed with lust. But all I could think about was how the way he took me up to his place was like a groom carrying a bride over the threshold.