by Nina Bruhns
His eyes blazed.
“You were running at ten o’clock at night? Alone? In the park?”
Refusing to be cowed, she merely nodded.
His vibrating anger signaled the fury behind his casual rejoinder.
“Hmm, maybe just as a precaution for this next week or so you might want to run in the day time. But then again, as you said, it’s none of my business.”
Jesse was surprised that as angry as she was, his caustic words cut as sharply as the glass at her feet. Seeing Rocky coming in the back door, she didn’t have time to analyze the pain that was threatening to swamp her. Rocky glanced at her and his troubled frown gave him away.
“Wolf, have you been out back?”
“No, why?”
Rocky shook his head. “You better come out, boss.”
* * *
Dameon stared at the back wall in disbelief. The word WHORE in four-foot letters was spray painted on the back of the house. Five bullet holes were visible in the kitchen window. Surprisingly, the window hadn’t shattered.
“Wasn’t only rocks, Wolf.”
Stating the obvious, Rocky frowned at Dameon. “From what I can tell, looks like a .44 caliber Glock--maybe.” He mused. “There ain’t nothing funny about five professionally placed shots. Any one of them could have taken out the person inside. This wasn’t a prank, Wolf.”
Dameon heard his lieutenant through the red haze blinding his eyes and coating his ears.
“No, it wasn’t. But they were warning her. They could have killed her easily enough if they’d wanted to.”
He took several deep breaths before he trusted himself to go back inside.
Jesse was standing beside an uncomfortable Sgt. Reimer signing the document ordering them to leave.
Dameon strode across the room and snatched it out of her hands. He ripped up the paper and tossed the shreds on the floor.
Jesse jerked back, her eyes dark with anger.
“What the hell are you doing? I’ve told your Sergeant I want you to leave.”
Dameon’s voice was low, ominous.
“Memory problems? You didn’t mention that several shots were fired, Major.”
Jesse raised her chin then looked away, eliminating the possibility that she didn’t know about the gunshots.
“I didn’t think it was important,” she said mildly.
Dameon’s angry glare pulled her back. “We’ll let that slide, Jesse, for now.”
Not taking his gaze off of her, his question was deceptively calm. “How many?”
She responded in kind. “I counted five.”
“Did you return fire?”
“No.”
His gaze darkened.
“Where’s your gun?”
Jesse yanked her Sig from the back of her waist and slapped it into his outstretched hand with a loud smack.
The corner of his mouth tipped up for a split second before his fearsome frown returned.
He checked the slide and removed the magazine.
Jesse lifted her chin and glared at him. She knew he didn’t believe her and she was furious. The whole episode was beginning to crash in on her. As her adrenaline rush crested, she felt shaky, vulnerable. It didn’t help that Dameon was standing two feet away, his eyes shooting angry daggers. Cloaking her stress in anger she spat out her words.
“I told you. I didn’t fire it.”
“And I should believe you? Why would I do that, Major?”
Jesse was thoroughly incensed now.
“Look, Chief Macarios, if I’d needed to, I would have fired. I went out in the backyard and didn’t see anyone. I walked the perimeter. No one was there. Unfortunately I’d already called 911. I know now that I shouldn’t have.”
He stared at her through narrowed eyes.
“You should have.”
Jesse looked down refusing to let him intimidate her any longer.
“Where did they land?”
She pointed to the splatters on the far wall. None of the team had spotted them yet, too absorbed by the broken windows and warning rocks.
Dameon turned to the team who were standing back viewing the exchange between Dameon and Jesse with obvious interest. He began issuing staccato orders, every word cloaked in suppressed anger.
“Now that we’ve discovered that shots were fired, a fact that our supposed victim neglected to mention, we now have a crime scene, men. Take the bullets out of the wall carefully. Get them to ballistics tonight. Have the report on my desk by 8 a.m. tomorrow.
“Officer Reimer, put two men on the perimeter. Sgt. Louis, you and Schaffer get plywood and board up those broken windows. Clean up this mess in here. We’ve got all the evidence we need. And Sergeant, call Menéndez. Have him get a crew out here by 6 a.m. Tell him it’s a personal request from the Chief. Have them replace the windows and repaint the back of the house.”
As if seeing Jesse for the first time, he said, “Menéndez is the best and most reasonable repair shop you’ll find. They’ll be here tomorrow morning because I asked them.”
His cocky take-charge attitude reminded her of how overbearing and obnoxious he could be. Not only that but he had made her look like a fool in front of his men with his caustic taunting attacks on her. If she could have scratched his eyes out, she would have. Instead she turned her angriest glare on him.
“Look, Chief Macarios, I appreciate your concern. But this is my house. I already told Officer Reimer I wanted you to leave. I signed a document taking full responsibility. I prefer to handle this myself. Now please, collect up all your toys, and you and your men get the hell out of my house.”
In two huge steps he had her pinned against the counter. She’d forgotten how big he was, how overpowering. As he backed her into the counter, she remembered when he’d lifted up on top of that very surface and bandaged up her wounds. She’d been the furious one then. He’d been comforting, funny--and sexy. The sudden ache in her throat caused a lump so big she knew swallowing was futile.
His voice was low, dangerous. It shot sparks along her spine.
“Okay, Major O’Donnell, let’s you and I get a few things straight. Shots were fired here tonight, which is NOT a customary happening in this neighborhood. This is a family community. You have neighbors on either side, both of whom have children. Are you willing to take on their safety as well as your own?”
Seeing her chin lift, his temper that had been simmering flared. Clamping a big hand around her arm, he pulled her closer.
“Well, guess what, Major? That ain’t going to happen. That isn’t an option.” His voice dropped to an even more dangerous level. “Listen up. I don’t give a good goddamn if you want to barricade yourself in your furnitureless house with your personal armory and take out the whole goddamn Mexican mafia. But you will not be responsible for the entire neighborhood. That is the job of the police.”
Making a visible effort to control himself he let go of her arm and stepped back. He added in a relatively normal tone before he walked away, “Be at the precinct at 9 a.m. Lt. Rockford will take your statement.”
Jesse pressed her lips together and said to his retreating back, “I can’t. I have a client.”
Dameon turned slowly then walked toward her, stopping inches away from her.
“Be. There. At 9 a.m.”
Unwilling to confront him further, Jesse ducked under his arm and stalked into the living room. She was shaking and fighting to control her tears.
Behind her she heard Dameon continue to bark out orders, confirming that her demand to let her handle it was meaningless. Jesse was too upset to care.
“Tell Menéndez to have his men replace the locks. I want double bolt safety locks on all the doors.”
Dameon followed her into the living room. She knew he saw her tears when his frown deepened.
“Look, Jesse, I apologize for being abrupt. I--”
Jesse held up her hand to stop him and walked toward the stairs. She whispered as she passed him, “I shouldn’t h
ave called 911.”
He snorted. “Yes, you should have. It’s the one thing you did right tonight.”
* * *
“Goddammit, Raoul. This has professional cartel written all over it. We’re tracing the bullets now. So help me God, if I find out that one of your men is involved, your fucking ass is grass—”
Raoul cut him off. “Listen Dameon, you know my culture as well as anyone does. You came from the barrios. That curvy-assed little Major saved my life. I owe her my life, man. I’d never do anything to hurt her and I’ll make dammed sure no one around me does. We go way back, right? So hear my voice now. We’re clean here, bro. I keep trying to tell you but you won’t listen.”
“Right, Raoul. All your various enterprises are cartel-free, right, buddy?”
“It’s not that easy, Dameon. You know that.”
“But 50% success is success in your mind, Raoul?”
Raoul’s chuckle echoed over the line. “Hell, man, admit it. It could be worse.”
Dameon’s voice was iron hard.
“Yeah, Raoul, it could be a hell of a lot worse if I find out that any of the cretins around you are responsible for what happened to Jesse.”
Raoul’s voice was smooth, insinuating.
“Thought you two were on the outs?”
“That’s none of your goddamned business, asshole.”
Raoul was quiet for a moment. When he spoke his voice was free of its customary swagger.
“You know Dameon, regarding your concern about Jesse getting hurt? I feel the same way. I don’t want her hurt--by you.”
The buzz of the dial tone ended their conversation. Dameon wasn’t sure who’d hung up first, him or Raoul.
* * *
Dameon pounded on the steering wheel. He was furious with himself. He’d acted like an overbearing jerk tonight. But seeing Jesse shivering in her pajamas looking small and frightened tore at him. And the idea that some assholes were threatening her, shooting bullets into her house infuriated him. His protective instincts had exploded like a goddamned forest fire. Even now, it was an effort to keep from turning the truck around and heading back to her house. He knew that was why he’d treated her the way he did. She wanted to take care of herself? Fine, let her try.
But her go-it-alone attitude, as angry as it made him, didn’t stop his shame at the way he’d taunted her. Fuck. He hadn’t seen her since the court hearing. If the way he acted tonight was any example of what he did when he did see her, he needed to stay as far away from this case as possible. He snorted in disgust. As if that were likely to happen.
Red Rock Rises: Chapter Thirty-Three
Three nights later, Jesse returned from the park after a grueling eighteen mile run. She’d waved at the young black man who’d become a frequent park runner at precisely the times that Jesse ran. He seemed to be alternating with a young Latino guy. It didn’t take much imagination to know that Dameon had put them on her tail. At first she’d been annoyed; but by the third day, she admitted that it was comforting to know that someone was watching out for her—so long as they kept a respectful distance.
The attack had thrown her more than she’d expected. It hit her when she was most vulnerable. The last several months had put her to the test and her spirit was running on empty. The debilitating experience with Elliott, Trey’s arrest, the custody hearing, Eric’s anger and most of all, Dameon’s departure, had leveled her. Jesse took her father’s advice to heart and her runs had become personal therapy sessions. Pounding the pavement for miles on end, she vacillated between guilt, anger and mostly grief. But also gratitude. She truly had done what she’d promised herself she would do when she resigned from the Army. She’d moved to a new city, fought for Trey and won.
She’d also fallen deeply in love with Dameon. She was stunned when she finally put a label around the tumultuous emotions she felt for him. When Eric told her that Dameon loved her she realized that yes, he did. And that she loved him in return. She’d never loved a man, so it wasn’t surprising that she didn’t know how to handle the powerful emotion. But when the crisis hit she’d reverted, true to form. She shut him out, as she had every important person in her life except her father and her son. She’d refused to trust the man who could help her the most. Instead she’d insisted as she always did that the only person she could trust was herself. In the process she almost lost her son, and she did lose the man she loved. Jesse spent lonely days and nights agonizing over the painful knowledge that Dameon left not because he didn’t love her but because she didn’t have the courage to love him the way he deserved to be loved.
Inside, tired from her long run, Jesse was eager to get in the shower. She prayed that the arduous run would help her sleep through the night, something she hadn’t done since the attack. She’d put her gun on her bedside stand and was preparing to strip when she heard a noise. Too late she saw him in the mirror as he exited her closet. He was big, brown-skinned, and pointing a regulation Glock .44 Magnum at her face. The K-bar in his belt sheath made him doubly dangerous. What was most notable was the gleam in his eyes when he surveyed her body.
His voice was low with a soft, almost pleasant lilt. His words were not. Jerking a hunk of rope from his jean’s pocket he moved toward her.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Jesse. I’ve been here since you left for your run. You were gone a long time. If I didn’t know better I might think you were trying to avoid me. Too bad, Jesse. Because you and I are going to have some fun. I’m supposed to kill you and I will. But, honey, before I do, you and I are going to get to know each other better. A whole lot better. I’ve been entertaining myself with your fancy underwear and a bottle of that fine whisky of yours. Both have made me horny.” An ugly leer lit his face. “And honey if you think this gun is powerful wait until you see the one in my pants.”
The degenerate made the mistake of dropping the rope to reach down and rub his prominent arousal. Jesse thought afterwards how fitting it was that his dick was his downfall. With an ear-splitting yell, she spun in the air and landed a fierce kick to his groin. Amid his screams she came from below and drove the heel of her hand up under his jaw. The angle of her blow cracked a couple of teeth and broke his nose. Unfortunately the strike wasn’t hard enough to take him down. With a roar he lunged for her, but ran into a knee strike to his wounded groin instead. She followed up with a driving kick to the side of his head that did drop him, hard. The stunned assailant staggered up from the floor with his knife in his hand. He swiped at her arm and drew a thread of blood, but the blow to his head had made an impact. He was weaving, bleeding from his ear, confirming she’d hit him hard enough to throw off his equilibrium. He stumbled toward Jesse and she grabbed his wrist in a pressure lock; with a bent knee she struck forcefully the underside of his elbow. His loud scream confirmed she’d shattered the joint. Jesse went in for the finish--but contained herself, knowing that he was more valuable alive than dead. A second strike to the side of his head brought him to the floor and the would-be rapist didn’t get up. Jesse drove a series of vicious kicks to his abdomen and groin for the sheer pleasure of beating the shit out of a cowardly thug who easily outweighed her by a hundred pounds or more.
She hogtied the unconscious brute with his own rope then checked her arm, confirming that it truly was a mere scratch. Finding her phone she sunk to the floor and clicked on Dameon’s number.
“What’s wrong, Jesse?”
“A man, here, in my house.”
She sat on the floor to catch her breath and let the phone drop beside her.
* * *
Driving eighty miles an hour, Dameon covered the distance to Jesse’s house in ten minutes. If there were red lights he didn’t see them. The EMT’s along with Sanchez and Paulson who’d been watching her house were inside. Rocky and a backup squad were yards behind Dameon when he careened into the driveway and leapt from his truck.
Barreling past his men he barked, “Where is she?”
The young officer in the door
way nodded to the living room. “You won’t believe this, Wolf.”
She was standing with her back to the entrance. Dameon came up beside her his heart banging in his chest. Easing next to her, he found enough spit in his dry mouth to speak.
“Are you alright, Jesse?”
She was staring in front of herself. She trembled at the sound of his voice but continued to look straight ahead.
“He’s upstairs. In my bedroom.”
“One man?”
She nodded. “Yes. I checked. I went through the house before I went upstairs.”
He shoved at the bile in his throat at the thought of her searching the house for intruders.
“Weapon?”
“Glock, .44 Magnum—and a K-bar.”
Dameon slipped his arm around her waist amazed that he sounded calm.
“Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head but wavered. He tightened his hold on her. She still hadn’t looked at him.
Two large officers trooped noisily down the stairs. Spotting Dameon, they approached wide-eyed.
“Damn, Chief, I don’t know if that son of a bitch will walk again.”
His partner gazed at Jesse, openmouthed. “Did you do that to him, ma’am?”
“Yes. With a great deal of joy, I did that.”
Still holding her arm, relieved that she wasn’t in shock, Dameon glared at Sanchez and Paulson who’d come up from the basement.
Dameon barely contained his fury.
“How the hell did this happen?’
Sanchez’s earnest face was pale, his eyes wide. “Wolf, I swear on my grandmother’s grave we watched her come in. We picked up her tail from Martinez at the park. We followed her home and were outside when we got your call. Christ, Wolf, you knew something was wrong before we did.”
“How did the fucker get by you, into the house?”
Paulson chimed in, his southern drawl accenting his words. “Fuck, Wolf, he got through Menendez’s lock slicker than pig snot on a glass doorknob.”
