by Freya Barker
“I should go.”
“Okay,” I mumble stupidly.
Maybe I should’ve said something to make him stay, but it’s too late now. I indulge myself by staring at the flex of his ass, underneath those fabulously fitting jeans, as I follow him to the door. I barely manage to raise my eyes from their intense focus when he suddenly turns around.
Yikes. Would’ve been awkward to get caught staring at his junk…and now I can’t stop thinking about his junk. Dammit.
Judging by the crinkles around his eyes, he may well have a good idea where my focus and my thoughts were.
“Before I forget, updating you wasn’t the only reason I came by. Coulda done that over the phone.” I was wondering about that but didn’t want to read too much into it. “Been a bit of an ass to you. Twice, so far,” he adds with a self-deprecating smirk. “I should probably apologize for that. I’m sure it’s hard to believe, but I’m generally an easy guy to get along with.”
“Actually, I’ve been a bit quick on the trigger myself, so you’re not the only who should apologize.” I look away from his intense gaze. “I have some hot button issues I can be reactive to.”
“Same here,” he rumbles in a low voice.
My breath falters when he gently lifts my chin with only a finger. He has green eyes. Gorgeous green eyes ringed with hazel. Mesmerizing.
“Willa?”
I blink my eyes a few times. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
“Dinner? I was suggesting if we get to know each other a little over dinner sometime this week, we can maybe avoid any future misconceptions.”
As much as it excites me, it also sounds a little too much like a date. Although, it’s just a meal not a lifetime commitment. We all have to eat.
“Why don’t you sleep on it?” he says with humor in his voice, and I realize my inner dialogue may have played out on my face. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow when you’ve had a chance to think it over.”
He’s already out the door and halfway down the steps when I come up with the only response I can muster.
“Okay.”
Dimas
I’m still wearing that grin when I get home ten minutes later.
Fuck, but she’s cute when she’s flustered, and I seem to have done a bit of that tonight. I get the sense her tough-guy persona is mostly something Willa wears on the outside to protect the warm-hearted woman I’ve only had glimpses of. It’ll be interesting to see if she’ll let me crack that shell.
I walk through my dark house—which coincidentally has much the same layout as Willa’s, except mine looks out over the dry mesa of the Redlands instead of the Colorado River—heading straight for the fridge for another beer. I take it out on my back deck and pull out my phone.
“I’m off the clock,” Radar grumbles.
“It’s not even nine o’clock,” I point out. “I’ve got a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Remember a while ago, you were approached at the gym for an unsanctioned fight?”
Radar may not look like a bruiser, but the man has some serious skills in the cage. Some guy came up to him after a sparring session and asked if he wanted to make an extra buck. Radar blew him off.
“I remember.”
“Did he leave you a number or something?”
“No, I wouldn’t take his card, but he still comes around from time to time.”
“I need to get in.”
“In? Like, on a fight? Jesus, Dimi, why—”
“Looks like a buddy of mine might be getting railroaded for that murder down the street from the office. Says he was approached a couple of months back at the shelter and declined. He knew the dead guy, though, and suspects he may have had a similar offer but accepted. Would fit the injuries.”
This is something I didn’t share with Willa, simply because I don’t want her asking questions at work. She strikes me as someone who would.
“Look, I’ve heard some rumbles around the gym. Some idiots who imagine themselves to be MMA capable but couldn’t knock over a goddamn garbage can to save their lives. They were talking about making money in this underground league. Pretty sure they were approached by the same guy. You don’t wanna get mixed up in shit like that. Not with your limitations.”
I fight hard to keep my anger in control before I answer. “I have no limitations,” I correct him with the deadly calm he seems to recognize, because he stays quiet. “Challenges, maybe, but no limitations.”
“I stand corrected. But that doesn’t negate the fact you haven’t seen the inside of a gym in how long?”
“I work out,” I counter defensively.
“You lift weights,” he says. “Which, as you well know, has dick-all to do with fighting.”
He has a point. I want to get to the bottom of this but I’ll need time without people cottoning in on what I’m doing. I can’t get my ass whooped right off the bat. Besides, I may be a big motherfucker but if they have a scout going around local gyms looking for new blood, I need to be able to catch his eye.
“Next time you go take me with you. Introduce me around.”
It’s quiet on the other side and I take a sip of my beer, waiting him out.
“Fuck, man. Does Yanis even know about this?”
“It’ll be on my own time, so there’s no reason for him to know.” My brother would have a fucking coronary if he knew what I was planning, so he’s best left uninformed. With a bit of luck I can get this sorted without him needing to find out. “Nothing will blow back on you either way,” I promise him.
“Famous last words,” he mutters.
“The guy they’re trying to pin this on, he’s a good man, a decent man who’s had nothing but bad breaks.”
“Killing me here, Dimi.”
“I wouldn’t ask if—”
“Holy shit, man. Fine. Five o’clock tomorrow morning I’ll pick you up. Jesus, you’re a pain in the ass.”
“Five in the morning?”
“Change your mind already?”
Almost. Five in the morning is just cruel, but I’m not about to tell him that.
“Fuck no. I’ll see you then.”
Chapter Five
Willa
I don’t have a chance to catch up with Brad until he knocks on my door right before the group session on Wednesday.
I saw him in the dining hall when I went to grab a coffee Monday morning, but other than a quick, “Hey, how are you doing?” and his responding “I’m good,” we haven’t really talked.
“Come have a seat.” He closes the door behind him and sits down, looking around a little uneasily. I think he’s only been in my office once before. “You okay?”
Almost distracted his eyes come to me.
“I’m good.”
It seems to be a staple answer for him, but something must be up or he wouldn’t be sitting here. Instead of prompting him, I decide to wait him out. I don’t have to wait long.
“You’re bound by confidentiality, right? Like a lawyer? Or a priest?”
Alarm bells go off but I keep my face straight.
“Similar, yes. Although if I feel someone is in danger of physically hurting themselves or others, I have a moral obligation to do what I can to prevent that,” I answer honestly. “It’s a bit of a gray area, really.”
“What if it’s illegal but it happened in the past?”
Now the hair on my neck stands on end, and I consider my response carefully.
“Unless it falls under the header of posing a current physical threat to themselves or others, it would still be privileged information.”
He thinks on that before he appears to come to a decision.
“I killed a man with my fists.”
It’s very hard not to react to his blunt statement, and I struggle to keep my racing thoughts from showing on my face. I automatically nod to encourage him to go on but he’s not looking at me, he’s staring into space clearly somewhere else.
“We didn’t see them com
ing. It was just a regular patrol like we’d done a hundred times before. I vaguely remember Dan yelling. They took us in broad daylight. My first clear memory after that is of the cell they kept me in. The only light came from a narrow slit in the door they used to check on me, or pass water and the occasional MRE through.”
“How long were you held captive?” I ask in a soft voice when he seems to halt.
“I lost track of time. It was hard without outside light to guide me. They told me it had been five months, but it coulda been five years. At that point I wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. I didn’t see Dan for a while. Didn’t know if he was in the same situation. Or even dead. There’s no frame of reference when you’re stuck in a hole.”
“I can’t imagine,” I gently interject, but it’s like I’m not even in the room. I pray silently Ron sees my door closed and gets started with the group without knocking on it.
I don’t want anything to interrupt what I hope is the story to explain Brad’s initial statement.
“The first time I saw him, I was so relieved I fucking cried like a baby. We were thrown in the middle of a circle of insurgents, cheering and hollering. We thought for sure we were done for. That our heads would roll. Instead they told us to fight. Each other.” He shakes his head and looks down at the hands he clenches on his lap. “We refused, but they were very convincing.” I shudder at the coldly delivered statement that exposes so much more than it hid. “We fought and they placed bets until one of us couldn’t get up anymore. Then we’d be returned to our respective cells until the next time they dragged us into the daylight. Only to do it all over again. It does something to your head. Who was your friend becomes your enemy. Then one day Dan went down, and I knew I’d killed him before he hit the dirt.”
“I’m so incredibly sorry for what both of you went through,” I opt to say, because telling him something inane like “It was an accident” would completely devalue the pain I’m sure he feels. “And thank you for trusting me enough to share it with me.”
“I haven’t lifted a finger to a single person since. Not ever. I can’t,” he says, looking me straight in the eye. “I had nothing to do with Art’s death. They’ve approached me to fight, but would never do that again. Dimas knows that,” he states with urgency.
“I never believed you did,” I quickly reassure him, his friend’s name leaving a bit of a sour taste in my mouth. The man, who showed up at my door out of the blue three nights ago, never followed through on his invitation for dinner. I hate that I feel disappointment. I shake my head to clear thoughts of him, and suddenly the rest of what Brad mentioned registers. “Someone approached you to fight? Do you mean like illegal fighting?”
Of course Ron picks that moment to knock loudly.
“Your group is waiting.”
“I’ll be right there,” I call out, without inviting him to come in when I see Brad’s reaction to the interruption. Every emotion is at once wiped off his face, leaving behind the friendly but flat mask I realize he’s been wearing since I met him.
“Brad, what do you mean—”
“You should get going,” he interrupts me, getting up from his chair and moving to the door. “I just wanted you to know why I could never have done this.”
He slips out before I can repeat my question about the fighting, and I don’t have time to think about it because I have a group of residents waiting for me.
That doesn’t mean I won’t get back to it some time.
I’m surprised to see Dave Williams, our newest resident, taking a seat in the group as I walk in. He hasn’t sat in on a meeting yet, and I’m not expecting much, but I’m glad he showed up.
“Sorry I’m a little late,” I start as I take my seat. “I thought perhaps we can start today by introducing ourselves.” I don’t specify it’s because we have a new resident present—I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate being put in the spotlight—but I’m sure everyone understands. “I’ll start. My name is Willa Smith, I’m a veteran of the Army Medical Service Corps and I was stationed in Landstuhl, Germany, for eight years before coming back Stateside. After that I worked at the VA hospital in Grand Junction for five years until I started here a few months ago.”
I look at Rupert sitting to my left, who introduces himself. Not everyone is as detailed with their intros as I was, but that’s not surprising. We go around the circle until we get to Dave, and my ears perk up when he starts speaking.
“Dave Williams. Retired Navy.” He looks around the group and then with his eyes on me adds, “Drunk and ex-con.”
I almost feels like he’s challenging me, but instead of biting, I simply smile and respond like I’ve done with each of the other guys. It isn’t the first time I’m looked at with suspicion.
“Hi, Dave, so glad you’re here.”
I almost chuckle at the surprise on his face.
“You don’t wanna know what I was in for?”
“Doesn’t matter here, but you’re welcome to share if you want to.”
I get a quick shake of his head and this time a look of curiosity instead of suspicion. I’ll call it progress, as I turn to the next resident in the circle.
It turns out to be a good session and although Dave doesn’t say anything for the rest of it, he appears to listen carefully. Small steps.
Heartbreaking as some of these stories are, it’s Brad’s visit that is still on my mind when I return to my office. What he told me is horrific, but I know there’s likely even more to his story he hasn’t shared and it makes me sick to my stomach. I close my door for some privacy and unlock my desk drawer to pull out my laptop.
I’ve only just opened Brad’s file, I keep with the others on my secure web storage, when my cell phone buzzes in my pocket.
“Oh, hey,” I answer as casually as I can when I recognize the number on the screen.
“Busy tomorrow?”
Dimas
Couple of days later and I’m still sore from the one early morning bout Radar put me through.
Yanis called me into his office the moment I staggered into the PASS. He thought I was drunk, or at least hungover, until I explained about my earlier visit to the gym, which he found hilarious. When he finished laughing at me, he told me to grab my gear and get to the airport with Bree for a flight to Reno, where a regular client—a celebrity with strong political views—was scheduled to speak at some convention the next day. The guy had received some threats that seemed directly related to the planned appearance in the prior twenty-four hours, so he wanted a little extra protection added to his regular detail.
Bree and I just got back to the office this morning, debriefed, and I just finished writing up my report before heading over to Sonic for a quick bite.
That’s where I am now, parked at the drive-in, munching on some fries while I call Willa. Finally.
“Oh, hey.”
Her casual tone is a little over the top and a clear indication she’s not particularly happy with me, but I prefer to explain things in person.
“Busy tomorrow?” When it stays silent on the other side, I add, “Would love to pick you up for that dinner.”
“Which dinner is that?” she asks with an edge, making me grin. I fucking love her grit, the fact she makes me work for it. Makes this game a hell of a lot more interesting.
“That would be the one I promised on the weekend, but never got around to calling about because I was out of town on a job. That dinner,” I explain.
“As I recall, I didn’t exactly agree to any dinner, only to thinking about it.”
This time I chuckle out loud. Yeah, she’s making me work all right.
“I stand corrected. So let’s try this again. Hey, Willa. Sorry I didn’t call, but I was unexpectedly sent out of town on an assignment and just got back this morning. I hope that gave you enough time to think about my dinner invitation, which I was hoping to extend for tomorrow tonight, if you’re available.” I pause for effect before I add, “How’s that?”
&nbs
p; Her laugh is like her voice, full-bodied, slightly raspy, full of genuine humor, and sexy as fuck. My jeans are suddenly uncomfortable.
“Much better,” she says with a smile in her voice. “But technically tomorrow tonight is laundry night.”
“Again?” Sunday night when I stopped by she was doing laundry as well.
“Thursday night is my regular schedule. What you walked in on was me coping with stress.”
“I see. I have to say, it’s intriguing to me laundry would be put on a schedule. It’s more of a need-based exercise for me. When the basket won’t hold anymore dirty socks, it’s time.”
“Sacrilege,” she fires back. “Although you get brownie points for putting your dirty socks in a basket.”
“Cause for celebration, then. How about I add a bottle of wine to the dinner I can bring over, so you can still do your laundry?”
Once again, it’s silent on the other side but this time I wait her out, munching on a few fries in the meantime.
“You’re pushy,” she eventually concludes.
“I prefer thinking of myself as persistent.”
“Fine, persistent then.”
“I am. When I want something.”
There’s the slightest hitch in her breath and I wonder if I’ve shocked her enough with my bluntness for her to hang up on me.
“Why?” she asks me instead, and I don’t even have to think about my answer.
“You don’t take any shit. I like that about you. In fact, there are a lot of things about you that interest me.”
Silence again, and then…
“Seven. You bring a bottle, I’m taking care of dinner.”
I don’t get a chance to protest before the line goes dead.
Yes. Willa Smith is interesting.
Chapter Six
Dimas
I rub my hand on my jeans before I lift it to knock on her door.
Can’t remember the last time I had sweaty palms before a date. Probably not since I picked Amanda Nichols up at her house for prom night twenty-odd years ago, and most of my anxiety had come from her implied promise I’d be getting lucky later that night.
