“What I’ve heard between you and your brother hasn’t been good.”
“You overheard one argument. Big deal.”
“Setting you up for murder is a big deal.”
“He’s pissed at me because I won’t speak to our mother.” She walked to the closet and removed her favorite pair of jeans from a hanger. “That doesn’t make him a killer.”
He straightened in the doorway, crossing his arms at his chest. “Where was he when you were locked up? I don’t recall you saying he came to your rescue.”
“He couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t, or didn’t care to?”
She stepped into the pants and pulled them over her hips without putting on her panties first. “My mom wouldn’t let him.”
“Well, I imagine if I had a sister and my parents locked her up…that’d be a big problem for them.”
“She puts big fears in little people. If he could’ve helped me, he would have.”
“He lived a normal life, going to school—”
“Typically, only one child is abused.”
“Then he could’ve helped by reporting it to the counselor or authorities.”
She removed the robe and put on her bra and blouse. “And risk being taken away?”
“There’s my point. He was happy and content while you did the suffering. Seems it didn’t work in his favor after all, did it?”
“He’s…he’d…there’s nothing…” She ran fingers ruthlessly through her hair. “He is not a monster.”
“Then explain where the hospital drug came from that killed Trevor.”
“I can’t.” Damn it, she wished she could. “If you analyze all the evidence, then I am still guiltier than he is.”
“They say an apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Take off the rosy glasses, Tiff.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If you haven’t inherited your momma’s malicious genes, I reckon you might want to look further.”
She stiffened her shoulders. “I am not turning my brother in without solid facts just to get the heat off my back. That would make me the monster.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’d just like you to ponder your list a bit.”
“I have. I know it doesn’t look good, but I’m not ready to convict him yet.” No, she could not go down that road. She had no clue where the drug came from, but she could guarantee Troy had no part of it. Well, not guarantee. Hoped was the appropriate word. “Can we please go? I’m starving.”
Chapter Nine
She wiggled free of Brock’s arms and worked her way down his body, wetting her lips to suck his morning wood. She gave it a few good strokes with her hand, opening her fist wide as it thickened against her palm.
“Come back up here, darlin’,” he said, grabbing her arms and repositioning her over his body. “This cowboy wants a ride this morning.”
She locked her legs at his hips and guided his penis to her pussy opening. She was already drenched from the naughty thoughts that’d been teasing her mind during the past thirty minutes while she lay awake.
“What’s your hurry?”
“No hurry,” she breathed as she lowered herself onto his rod, her insides stretching wide while taking it all. “Just hot for you.”
He took hold of her waist and began guiding her up and down. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms behind his head and hung on for everything she was worth as she took control. Tightening her legs for momentum, she rode him hard, her ass cheeks slapping the top of his thighs. A faint, squishy noise from her pussy sucking his cock surpassed her soft moans.
A climax sizzled within reach, but it wasn’t close enough to taste. And she needed to explode in bliss. Now. She reached between their bodies and massaged her clitoris in quick circles.
Just then, she heard a knock at the apartment door. She stilled.
“Don’t be stopping on me now, Tiff,” he growled.
“Shh.” She lifted her head, holding an index finger to her lips.
“I don’t hear anything,” he said, jerking his hips upward. “Get back on track.”
“I think someone’s knocking.” She glanced at the clock on the night stand. The red digital numbers read eight-fifty-five. Who could possibly need something this early in the morning? Troy never knocked and would’ve used his key by now. Besides an occasional hello, she rarely spoke to the neighbors. Which left…nobody she knew.
Another shift of Brock’s hips forced her insides to tremble, and her vaginal walls constricted, taking her mind off the door. She buried her face in his hair while increasing pressure to her clit with her fingertip. Then all at once her insides shattered. She bit her lip, preventing a scream as he rammed her, plowing his cock to the hilt. “Come inside me, Brock,” she begged. “Please, just this once.”
His body stiffened. In the midst of a muffled groan, he slammed her hard, stilling her hips as his hot cum spurted deep in her pussy.
Another tap, tap, tap echoed from the family room.
She held him for only a minute before rolling off his body onto her back.
“You always get company this early?”
“Normally, I’m working by now.” She stood up. Cold air wrapped around her bare skin before she had a chance to remove her robe from the end of the bed and slip her arms through the sleeves. “Come on,” she said, overlapping the fuzzy material across her waist and tying the belt. Being snuggly warm was much better than standing naked in the cold.
The tap turned into a bang. “Hurry up, they’re getting impatient.” She waited while he put on his pants before she opened the bedroom door and walked down the hallway.
The banging escalated. “I’m coming,” she mumbled under her breath, then tiptoed to look through the peephole. Her stomach toppled. She stared at the floor for a moment then glanced at Brock in anguish while opening the door. “Detective. Officer Wilson.”
“Tiffany Stoler,” Gowen said. She gasped when he removed a set of handcuffs from his back pocket. “You are under arrest for the murders of Hallock Woodenhaven, Trevor Malone and Ginny Duncan.”
“What the fuck!” Brock blared over her shoulder. “You’re arresting the wrong person. For Christ’s sake, go investigate her brother.”
Detective Gowen glanced at him, and Tiff glared into Brock’s eyes, warning him to avoid any further mention of Troy. It wasn’t fair throwing him to the wolves for the sake of needing a scapegoat at the moment. And, if in fact he was guilty, it didn’t look good bringing it up now. “Brock,” she said. “I’ll explain everything to the detective. For now, let him do his job.” Trying to remain strong while the urge to vomit churned her tummy was incredibly hard. Sweat bubbled along the hairline at her neck. “Please, call my attorney.”
The detective took hold of her wrist. The cuffs rattled, reclaiming her attention. She glanced down. They dangled from his fingers, the short chain representing her fate.
Brock stepped beside her and laid his hand on top of Gowen’s. “Let her put on some clothes. And no need to cuff her. She’s no risk.”
Amazingly, Gowen didn’t refute his actions, and instead nodded.
“I guess you received the results you’ve been waiting for, Detective,” she said, her voice trembling as desperately as her legs. “Can I ask what the evidence was?”
He released her arm. “Multiple strands of your hair were lifted from the victim’s bodies.”
And he probably never considered they may have been planted. “I see.” When she turned and walked to her bedroom, tears gushed from her eyes.
She’d feared this day…while praying they would find the real suspect.
And clear her of all charges.
Then apologize for rushing to judgment.
No, she didn’t need an apology. Setting her free was enough.
Instead of changing, she dropped down on the bed. To buy time? Digest the situation? Pray for a miracle? She pulled her knees to her chest and rocked—like in the cellar. But in the cellar, s
he’d had hopes of escape.
“Tiff?”
She glanced at the doorway. Brock stood with one hand on the frame, the other reaching forward. “If the judge sets bail, I’ll have you out early this afternoon.”
If? And if not, they’d lock her in jail until her trial. If a jury convicted her…this could be the last free day of her life. That’d…oh Jesus, she wanted to throw up. The evidence spoke for itself, and it was solid enough to have aided in placing her under arrest. The jurors wouldn’t know it’d been planted, or that she wouldn’t hurt a fly, and that she thrived to protect abused children. It’d be her word against the legal system.
She may never see her home again. Or Brock. Or Troy. Or…she needed to contact her brother. She hadn’t spoken to him in weeks. To explain everything. The murder charges. Weapon. Missing case. Her destiny. She’d been too stubborn to call. Too selfish to listen. Why hadn’t she called? Was granting his wish of visiting her mom asking her for too much? Why hadn’t she given him that little bit of satisfaction?
And what about the materialistic things? Clothes and furniture and toiletries and… Would he empty her apartment if she asked? Dear God, please help me.
The urge to flee bled through her veins. She’d never considered it. Not once. It was insane. But it was her only salvation.
“Tiff, did you hear me?”
Brock’s voice jolted her back to the moment; his body moving closer to the bed knocked her back to reality. Wiping tears off her face, she nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, standing. For a long time, he stared into her eyes, as if passing his strength onto her. Then he crushed her so tightly against his chest she could barely breathe. She wrapped her arms around his back and held him just as desperately, fearing to let go while fearing her fate. She couldn’t part with his security. Not yet. She needed to hold him just a little…forever. Fresh tears dripped beneath her lashes. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“I promise, by two o’clock you’ll be free.”
She sniffled while nodding. Her chin rubbed his breastbone. “I’ll be okay, Brock.”
“I wish it were me,” he said, his tone strained, arms tightening. “God damn it, woman, I love you.”
She froze. Macho men like Brock didn’t confess love. Did they? Maybe she’d misunderstood. Hopefully, she hadn’t. Her eyes popped open but she couldn’t see beyond his huge chest. She wiggled free and stepped a foot backward, gazing at his face then into his eyes, searching for…truth. “What did you just say?”
“I didn’t stutter.”
“You did…I think. Everything was muffled because you held me so tight.”
He stepped forward and slid his hands into the hair above her ears, gathering it in his fists. “I love you, Tiff.”
“You do?”
“I’m not a man who says things he doesn’t mean.”
Her eyes flooded with emotion. She reached forward and stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers then flew into his arms and kissed him, trying to weasel her way inside his heart where no one would ever find her.
Those few words breathed life back into her soul, giving her a reason to fight. Unexplainable strength inched up her spine. Breathless and panting and mentally putting on the boxing gloves, she ended the kiss. “Let’s get this over with so I can hurry back home.”
He brushed his lips against her brow. “I’ll be right behind you, darlin’. Even if you can’t see me, I’ll be there.”
“Ms. Stoler,” Detective Gowen yelled from the family room. “Let’s go.”
* * * * *
Ten thousand was doable. One hundred thousand—good thing Tiff had a lenient judge, or she’d be spending quite a few nights in jail while Brock tried rounding up that amount of cash. As it was, she’d already spent four hours at the station being booked, and was frazzled out of her skin.
He hated the interrogation bullshit, damn near as much as the orange jumpsuit they made her wear before facing the judge. He had no clue what went on in that interrogation room, but she’d tolerated it for a good two hours before her attorney, Duane Bricker, finally showed his face. It appeared Brock needed to subtract a few hundred bucks from the man’s bill.
He hated leaving Tiff behind, knowing they’d lock her in that cell until he posted bond. Hell, he felt as if he was betraying her, but he needed to run home to fetch the cash from the safe. Other than a credit card, it was the only form of payment they accepted. He gave up playing the charge card game with banks years ago. If he wanted to pay interest for borrowing money, he’d rather pay it to someone he trusted.
He’d already been on the road seventy minutes. Two hours max, and she’d be a free woman. Hopefully freedom wasn’t a temporary thing. Since the onset of the situation, he’d didn’t like thinking about it much, and put up a mental block. He’d always considered her innocent and had thought the lawmen eventually would too. But today’s events proved it wasn’t so. The seriousness weighed heavy on his shoulders. If the cops doubted her innocence, why wouldn’t a jury?
Bricker needed to start earning his fee. They said he was the best criminal lawyer in the state, and the SOB had better live up to that reputation. He was not being paid two-hundred bucks an hour to sit on his ass behind a desk, or show up late for interrogations.
After today’s experience, maybe Tiff would open her eyes and look closely at that brother of hers. Brock had tried throwing a clue to Gowen this morning, but her glare liked to have whipped him senseless, so he’d shut up. Hopefully she’d mentioned it to the detective like she’d said. If not, Brock hoped his comment piqued the man’s interest enough to start an inquiry. The only way to find out was to ask. Brock would pay him a visit to get things rolling after he bailed Tiff out of the slammer. He had a mind to look up information on Troy and pay him a visit as well.
Brock pulled in his driveway, parking adjacent to the house. As soon as he opened the vehicle door he heard Drago snorting and stomping inside the barn. Something had spooked him, or he was a bit anxious from not taking his daily run. It’d be best to calm him down before heading back to Austin. The poor stud was as unpredictable as a grizzly these days. That being Brock’s fault for cutting back on attention lately. Too bad he hadn’t trained Ryan to exercise the animal yet. It’d release most of the stallion’s anxiousness, along with Brock’s guilt.
As he stepped into the barn, Drago whinnied and reared.
“Easy, boy,” Brock soothed, nearing the stall. “Easy now.” Normally, his voice calmed the stallion, but not today. His behavior seemed to worsen during each closing step. Between the snorting and screeching, footsteps pounded the ground at Brock’s back. He swung around just as a baseball bat descended toward his head. He threw his arms in the air to deflect the blow, but the bat smashed into his shoulder, knocking him off his feet. He hit the ground, his head cracking against the metal gate…
Chapter Ten
Could the day get any longer? Every second felt like a minute while Tiffany waited for release, staring at the white block walls in her six-by-eight-foot cell. A toilet, a sink and a metal cot layered with a thin mattress decorated her temporary home. It looked institutional, cold and gave her the creeps.
She’d expected Brock’s return no later than three thirty, but the time now surpassed six o’clock. Did he have to apply for a loan to bail her out? He’d said he had the money on hand and should’ve been back by now. She hated being in this situation, hated being dependent on others, hated everything in life right now, period. Especially him, for promising to free her by two o’clock. “Although he hadn’t specified which day,” she grumbled sarcastically.
She stood as footsteps echoed down the corridor and she walked to the door. Mr. Bricker, accompanied by an officer, stopped in front of her cell. He was the least professional looking professional she’d ever laid eyes on. Hopefully his appearance wasn’t a reflection of his performance. The little bit of grayish-brown hair remaining on his head was a tousled mess, and the bottom button on the shirt covering his large belly, d
irectly above his belt buckle, was unfastened, exposing a white undershirt. The shoulders of his suit coat were puckered near the seam as if he’d hung it up wet on a bent wire hanger, and one pant leg was longer than the other. But he walked with a limp, so one leg may have been shorter.
“Did you get a hold of Brock yet?” she asked, gripping the bars.
“No.” He looked at her over the top of his glasses. “I hired the services of a bondsman to get you out of here. It appears Mr. Halston isn’t going to show.”
“Thank you.” I think.
”It may cost you a little more now to cover their fees.”
“That’s fine.” Like it was even her money to bargain with. In a sense it was—she’d treated it as a loan, promising to pay it back. And how would she repay it with her current state of employment? And if convicted, then what?
Instead of overwhelming herself on the what-ifs, she needed to focus on handling issues one at a time. The first, getting the hell out of there.
When the officer unlocked and opened the door, she stepped forward to freedom. “Let’s go,” she said in relief. Spending the day in jail proved to be one of the most humiliating events of her life. Mug shots, finger-printing, strip searches. Yes, it’d be a long time before she’d forget about the strip search…if ever. At her discretion, she’d had numerous things stuffed in her orifices, but having strange fingers prodding around for hidden objects was a bit intrusive. That procedure alone made her not want to commit a crime.
After she changed back into street clothes, she met Mr. Bricker in the lobby and they walked outside to his car. “Do you have access to your apartment?” he asked, respectfully opening the passenger door.
“The landlord will let me in.” It offered another reason to be pissed at Brock, since her keys were stuffed in his pants pocket. Where was he? This morning he’d said he loved her. This afternoon, he fled. What was going on? He hadn’t even had the decency to contact Mr. Bricker to apprise him of…whatever the situation. It wasn’t like Brock to say one thing and do the opposite.
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