Where her courage or her strength came from, she had no idea, but by the end of the violent encounter, blood puddled on the floor beneath the sinks in the girls’ restroom, and none of it was hers.
Roxy walked away from the confrontation half-naked with handfuls of Mario’s sleek black hair in her fist, but proud of herself because she could walk away, and because now, that sick freak knew. She wouldn’t go quietly.
Her good girl reputation was still intact, but she was pissed at the whole damned world for letting that happen! To her! To any girl entrusted to the school board’s care! She was just as angry with the chicken shit teachers who had to have known the pervert that their star quarterback was! How could they not?
Instead of a walk of shame, and despite her ragged state of undress, she’d lifted her chin in defiance to the crowd that had gathered like a bunch of cheerleaders outside the restroom doors. The cowards! They had to have heard him bellowing at her, and she knew damned well they’d heard her screams. But had anyone thought to intervene? To stop him? To save her?
Even her supposed girlfriend was there, clapping like Roxy had simply won a wrestling match instead of a fight for her life. God, she’d hated every single one of them that night. Still did.
Someone must’ve called the police, most likely the principal. He had the most to lose once this bullshit went public, well, besides Roxy. But that was the night she knew she’d become a female police officer. More than anything, she would learn how to better protect herself and others from good-looking punks like Mario. From that night on, she vowed to be tougher than everyone else and to never—NEVER—let any man do that to her again.
After the kindly male officers had covered her with a blanket and cordoned off the restroom, the EMTs showed. They took care of Mario first because he’d made the most noise. No wonder. As the EMTs passed by with him strapped to a gurney, the crowd stilled. Guess bawl baby Mario had a gushing broken nose, a severely scratched face, mashed fingers, and some seriously swollen testicles. Boo-hoo-hoo.
Roxy had watched in silence, staring at the bastard, but not once had he looked her in the eye. Funny thing. Every last one of those first responders who’d showed, the police officers, EMTs, and the firemen, had nothing but good things to say to her. Good things like, “You go, girl!” and “Guess you showed him, Roxy,” and “Good for you!” and “I wish every girl had your brand of guts.” She’d glowed that night, even after enduring the humiliation of a rape kit later at the emergency room—just to be sure. Her mom and dad were shocked and angry when they’d arrived at the hospital, but Roxy had reassured them she was okay, that she’d never given in. That he’d never walk straight again.
She never returned to Hawthorne High.
Lost in remembering the ensuing PTSD that lingered after that night, Roxy rubbed her fingertips over her trachea where once an asshole had left an ugly collar of bruises. But that was then, and this was now. Mario Forsythe couldn’t get to her anymore, because bullies were cowards at heart. Every last one of them. They didn’t go after chicks who could beat their asses. Besides, he’d moved out of state shortly after spending two years on home confinement for the assault.
Hawthorne High lost state that year, and to her knowledge, hadn’t recovered their once stellar reputation. But Roxy Thurston had. She’d overcome Hawthorne and Mario because she was born to be a survivor, never a victim. She taught other young men and women self-defense now, so they’d never know fear and humiliation by a bully. Because Mario might be gone, but there were plenty of others in the District.
Turning off the kitchen lights, Roxy said goodbye to her past one more time. With her hand on her revolver grip, she rechecked the windows and doors, making certain they were secure, at least the ones she could. Interestingly, Brattons’ hall ended at a massive locked double door for which Roxy had no key, and she wanted one. How could she do her job with most of the mansion off-limits? Mental note to self: badger Isaiah until he tells me everything about this house.
She smiled to herself. No doubt he would’ve done just that if they’d been able to keep their hands to themselves.
Satisfied that all things were locked up, she dragged a chair from the kitchen table and set it near the middle of the room. From there, she could watch three of the five exits to the room: the doorway to the formal dining room straight ahead, the hallway that led to staff quarters at her left, as well as the one at her right to the Brattons’ suite. It irked her that the cellar and patio exits were at her back, but what else could she do? She’d made certain both were secure before she sat down.
And just because she meant what she said, her revolver, now cocked and ready, rested with one in the chamber in her holster. Isaiah wouldn’t sneak up on her again, the dog. Not that she’d shoot him if he did, but if Randall came calling? Him, she’d shoot in a heartbeat.
For the next hour Roxy watched, waited. She made certain Darrin slept soundly and she patrolled her kingdom every half-hour with revolver in hand. Precisely at midnight, her cell vibrated on her hip. She didn’t recognize the number on her caller ID, but the FBI logo attached to it quickened her response. “Officer Thurston.”
“Hey, Roxy,” an affable, baritone voice replied. “This is Director Chase, Isaiah’s boss. You can stand down for an hour or three if you’re tired. Go ahead. Get some shuteye. You might as well. It’s quiet out here and we’re not going anywhere.”
“Thank you, sir, but I’m not tired,” she told him in no uncertain terms, her weapon once more holstered. “And I don’t sleep on the job. Not until Isaiah, umm, Agent Zaroyin returns.” She rolled her eyes at that less than brilliant comeback that made her sound like she planned to sleep with Isaiah once he got back. Not a bad idea, but so not happening.
Director Chase had the nerve to chuckle. “Figured you’d say that. This place is a jewel, isn’t it? All the comforts of home, plus.”
“Comfort, nothing. It’s an eyesore and a nightmare,” she shot back at him. “MPD would never use a monstrosity like this for a safe house. What were you guys thinking? The grounds are too big and the home itself is an invitation for trouble with all these rooms. I can’t even check most of this place. Why the hell not?”
Another manly chuckle resonated over the line as if Director Chase had just dismissed her angst. How dare he? “That’s what my wife says, too. You’d like her. She’s smart, like you.”
Not if she married you, Roxy thought, but she said, “If you say so. But I mean it. I want a key to check the rest of this place. Have you heard from Isaiah… er, umm,” Damn it, I mean… “Agent Zaroyin yet? Will he be back with Bratton and her daughter anytime soon? Is Kitty okay?”
“Mrs. Bratton and her daughter are doing fine, but Isaiah’s got his hands full from what I heard. Guess he met some guy in the hospital’s chapel that gave him an odd vibe. We’re running the perp’s description through our database to see who we come up with.”
“Not Garrett Randall?”
“No. Isaiah would’ve recognized him on sight.”
“Not Chester Bratton?” With five million at stake, Candy’s ex-father-in-law had to be hanging around nearby, waiting for his chance at the money.
“Negatory,” Director Chase drawled.
Roxy nearly snorted. Who’d he think he was, a trucker on the interstate? “Then who else knows about the five mil?” she asked him point blank. “Who else wants Mrs. Bratton dead?” Randall’s brothers were either dead or incapacitated. Who was left?
“All good questions for which I have no immediate answers,” he offered what sounded like a canned FBI answer. “Mind if I come in for a spell?”
Roxy stalled. Tucker Chase was FBI and a former Navy SEAL. Isaiah trusted him. That meant something, right? Besides, how much trouble could he be? “Sure. I’ll unlock the rear exit. Do you know where that is?”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Roxy spun around to the banging on the door at her rear. Her weapon sprang instantly to her pal
m, ready to fire, and—damn him! It was Chase, and like Isaiah, he’d scared the bejesus out of her. The red-laser dot from her piece now danced over his smug face, right between his eyes. This arrogant guy had no idea what he’d just done, or how close he came to being dead. He didn’t look like he was worried about it, either. His black brows waggled beneath a black ball cap turned brim backwards. This clown was a director? Damn, the Bureau was desperate if they’d hired him.
With her heart pounding in her chest, Roxy holstered her revolver before she turned the deadbolt and let Isaiah’s cocky boss inside, then relocked the door behind him. By then, her fingers were trembling and the alarm blinked its ten-second countdown before it notified the police—which was her.
Swallowing hard, she forced a deep breath and keyed in the proper code to cancel the notification and reactivate the alarm. Thankful that Isaiah had at least revealed that before he’d taken off, Roxy was unnerved that she’d drawn on his boss. That she could’ve killed him if she’d been a green recruit. What is it with these FBI guys that they thought they could sneak up on her like they both had? Was that some kind of training or was it all a game to them? SEALs could be arrogant, but Isaiah wasn’t former military. Were they—dumb? Egotistical? This kitchen had too many points of egress, damn it!
Turning on Chase, she caught sight of his broad back just as he headed down Brattons’ hallway. She followed, as he passed the bedroom where Darrin and Nugget slept and went straight to the door for which Roxy had no key.
Interestingly, Nugget scratched at the other side of Darrin’s closed bedroom door now. He growled, which made Roxy feel better, but why hadn’t he reacted to the previous sounds of gunfire? Silly dog wasn’t much of a guard dog.
Roxy stored that away for further scrutiny. Right then, she had a rogue FBI director in her safe house, and he had the key for that closed double door in his hand. What the hell?
“Stop,” she ordered, pissed again at what Isaiah hadn’t shared with her and should have. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Hopefully, nowhere,” Chase said as he opened the door, flipped a switch to his left, and peered into the great unknown. A wave of cool air filled the hallway as if the rest of the home was unheated, which made sense. “You can come with me or you can stay put and guard Darrin Bratton. Your choice, but I’m checking the rest of this place. You’re right. It’s too damned big.”
Roxy swallowed hard, but leave Darrin alone? Not on your life. “Tell me what you find when you get back,” she told Chase, “but I want the key to that door before you leave.”
He nodded, his short stock rifle up and snug against his chest in a comfortable hold. The man moved like a professional, at ease with his weapon and unafraid to go it alone. Still not looking at her, he stepped into the room beyond, scanned to the left and then to the right. Tossing her the key, he muttered, “Now be a good girl and lock up behind me, will ya?”
With pleasure. The door swung inward and closed behind Chase with a firm click. Roxy locked it and stepped back, her hackles up at that last remark. For a director, he sure had no problem talking down to her. A man could get fired for what he’d just said. Good girl? My ass.
While he was gone, she made another sweep through the portion of the mansion she did control, wondering what other intel Isaiah had neglected to share. The FBI had a rep for steamrolling its partners in law enforcement on joint operations. Was that why he hadn’t shared what he knew, because he thought he was superior to the local police like his boss obviously thought? The notion settled like a wet blanket over what she’d hoped was a decent—make that great—working relationship. With Isaiah. Not Chase.
Antsy now that she had a Fed prowling around her mansion, Roxy couldn’t sit still. One more time, she checked Darrin, then, just for good measure, let Nugget loose in the hall. One armed guard could only watch so many doors, windows and hall. She wished she’d thought to use Nugget as a resource before. Dogs made the best partners.
Even now, he’d beelined to the door at the end of the hall. Sniffing and growling, he dropped to his belly, his nose pressed tight against the crack of light under the door as if he could smell something he didn’t like. Had to be Chase.
“Feel free to bite him when he comes back,” Roxy encouraged. I would if I were you, but that’d make me a bitch, and, oh wait. I am a bitch! She rolled her eyes again at her warped sense of humor. She wasn’t opposed to being the alpha bitch when circumstances called for it.
Shrugging to alleviate the tight knot under her right shoulder blade that had plagued her since Chase showed, she tapped the toes of her right boot and waited with Nugget. How long could it take to search empty rooms? Unless they weren’t empty. Glancing up at the ceiling, she crossed her arms over her chest, anticipating the sounds of a struggle, at least footsteps. But nothing came back to her.
Okay, it was just possible that Chase was good at his job, the silent but deadly type of operator. Another smile curved her lips. That made him sound like a fart, which, in a way, he was.
Nugget’s ears perked forward just as Chase knocked again.
“Who is it?” Roxy asked just to be a smartass. He was the one who’d gone looking for something—or someone—hadn’t he? Why should she just open up without making sure he was who he was supposed to be?
“Chase,” his big voice boomed.
Nugget was on his feet by then, the ridge of hair up his spine lifted and his posture tense. Something was definitely up with this dog. Was it Chase? Nah, couldn’t be. He was a good guy.
“How do I know it’s really you?” Roxy teased. She had Chase there, didn’t she?
The key turning in the lock proved otherwise, when Chase let himself back into the inhabited portion of the mansion with a big grin on his face. “Funny girl,” he said.
The man was handsome in a dark, intimidating way. And big. Broad, like a wall. His boots had to be size thirteens, and you know what they say about men with big feet. They had bigger egos. If he let his hair grow, it might curl at the ends. Rugged. That was the word for this macho guy. Chase was an alpha if ever she’d seen one. No wonder she found him abrasive. They were two of a kind. Alpha bitch meet alpha prick.
Roxy took a step back to let him pass, but he just stood there, blocking the way with his hand on the door behind him and the butt of his short stock rifle under his chin. Jerking his head back toward the supposedly vacant part of the mansion, he said, “All clear.”
She covered her relief with her best snark. “Good to know since coming to this monstrosity of a safe house was all your idea.”
He grinned then, a truly beautiful grin—for a man. The glint in his dark eyes from the overhead light snapped at her attention. “No wonder the kid likes you.”
Don’t even go there. “What’s Darrin Bratton got to do with anything?”
Chase winked, his big brown eyes full of mischief. “Not that kid. Isaiah. That kid.”
Oh. Him. Roxy choked, taken by surprise, but a little bit pleased at the observation. “He… he does?” Who turned the thermostat up?
Chase’s brows dipped together in amusement. “Yeah. He does, but don’t tell him. He’ll kick my butt if he finds out I talked.”
I’d like to see that. “You’re wrong,” Roxy said firmly, her nose in the air. “We’re just two professionals who are—”
“Doing a bang up job.” Again the man chuckled. Did he mean bang up as in banging each other? Her face heated at the insinuation. Crap. How much did Chase suspect? “Trust me. I know a few things about women, and he’s got his eye on you. Oh, shit...” Chase tapped his index finger to his right temple. “I forgot. He can hear me,” he whispered.
“How?” Roxy demanded to know. Isaiah was miles away.
“He and I have a link. Up here.” Chase tapped the tip of his gloved index fingers to his forehead. “Don’t ask me how it works. He listens in on me any time he wants, but I’m not as sharp as he is. It’s rare that I can reach out,
and, you know, touch him, so to speak. Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” he muttered. Apparently, Isaiah had reached out and touched his boss, Roxy hoped with a good hard smack. “When are you getting back? Your lady’s worried.”
Chase said that with a smile that made her head spin. Was he pulling her leg or was he really speaking with Isaiah? Mentally, for hell’s sake.
“I’m not his lady,” she set him straight.
Chase nodded, winking again. For two cents she’d poke that big brown eye of his the next time it winked. He looked so damned smug, and that shit-eating grin didn’t help.
When he ended the mind-speak with Isaiah, he pointed his weapon to the floor. Nugget still hadn’t moved his nose from the closed doorway and that alarmed Roxy. Chase noticed, too. Palming the door open once more, he told the dog to, “Kill.”
“Kill?” Roxy all but screeched when Nugget took off like a freight train, his nails clattering across the hardwood floor and his voice lifted in an eerie howl. “What if there are kids in there? Stupid college kids just having fun and a kegger?”
Chases’ eyes narrowed as Nugget’s howl turned into a barking snarl. “Then they’d better be faster than he is. I didn’t see anyone, but it sounds like he did. Here, boy!” Chase called out, his rifle stock snug to his chest again and one foot through the door. “Here, boy!”
Holy shit. Who could’ve been in this mansion all this time? Just some idiot college kids out to have a good time? Vagrants? Nah, Chase would’ve seen them when he’d scouted the place. He was smart. Annoying maybe, but no one to be trifled with.
Roxy shut the door behind him and locked it, her nerves on edge and her throat gone dry. Could Nugget have gone after Randall?
Panicked now, she ran to Darrin, needing to touch him to make sure he was safe. Randall was just as smart as Chase. She wouldn’t put it past him to have planned a diversion to draw her away from Darrin. Not happening, damn it. If Randall thought he could get past her, he was in for a fight.
One-Eyed Jack (The Deuces Wild Series Book 3) Page 13
