Life&Limb (PASS Series Book 2)

by Freya Barker

  “And who might you be?” her father demands when I turn to the cute girl, who has let go of her aunt and is staring at me with big eyes. Ignoring him, I smile at Willa’s niece.

  “You must be Britt.” I reach out to shake her hand, holding it a little longer. “Your aunt has told me about you.”

  Her eyes grow big.

  “She has?”

  “Oh yeah. You’re twelve, you like nature, love animals, and eat Mini-Wheats for breakfast.”

  The girl’s face splits open in a big smile.

  “Excuse me,” her father says behind me, and I turn around, moving to stand beside Willa and putting my arm around her stiff shoulders. “I’m not sure who—”

  “Dad,” Willa interrupts, finally having found her voice. “Dimas is my…” I grin, wondering what she’s going to call me. “…boyfriend. Dimas, these are my parents, Chuck and Josie Smith.”

  “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” Britt pipes up, eyeing both Willa and me with blatant curiosity.

  “Neither did I,” Chuck mutters, pinning his daughter with a glare.

  “Oh, how wonderful!” her mother gushes, her hands clasped against her chest.

  “Why don’t I put on a pot of coffee?” I offer, giving Willa’s shoulder a squeeze. She looks up at me with a sparkle of humor in her eyes. She knows exactly what I’m doing and approves.

  “Surely you’ve managed to learn how to make coffee by now?” her father sneers at her, and I’m about to say something when Willa grins at me before turning to her father.

  “I have,” she states calmly, “but Dimas does it so much better.”

  “Oh, but surely…” her mom starts, her eyes darting between her husband and her daughter, before settling on me.

  I wink at her and turn to Britt.

  “Wanna give me a hand, Short Stack?” I ask, already moving into the kitchen.

  There’s silence at first, but then I hear footsteps and a voice behind me.

  “I’ll have you know I’m the tallest girl in my class.”

  “Oh yeah? Good, you can reach the cups in that cupboard then. You drink coffee?” I glance over at her while scooping coffee into a filter.

  “No,” she scoffs, making a face. “It’s gross.”

  I chuckle. “An acquired taste. You’ll grow into it. Four cups then, and check the fridge, I think your aunt got some orange juice and chocolate milk. Take your pick, glasses are in…”

  “I’ve got it,” she says.

  A quick glance inside shows Willa and her parents have taken seats in the living room, but most of their attention is on the kitchen.

  I grab the tray on top of Willa’s fridge and give it a quick wipe with the dishrag before setting the cups Britt hands me on it. I pull the small container of creamer out of the fridge, grab the sugar bowl from the counter, and add those and a bunch of spoons to the tray.

  I note the girl has opted for chocolate milk.

  “You know what would go well with that? Cookies. Check in the pantry, we have some.”

  Five minutes later, we walk into a very quiet living room, Britt leading the way with a plate of cookies she put together, and me with the tray.

  “You seem to know your way around my daughter’s house.”

  It’s not so much a question as a statement, but I still feel compelled to answer.

  “I should. I spend enough time here.”

  “Let me do that.” Josie jumps up when I start pouring coffee.

  “Thanks, Josie, I’ve got it, but you can add your own cream and sugar. Britt, offer your grandma a cookie, will you?”

  “What is it you do?”

  That’s a question I was expecting, I finish pouring coffees and sit down next to Willa on the couch before I answer.

  “I work for PASS: Protection and Security Services.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” I tell him with a friendly smile. “We’re not the kind of business to advertise to the general public. Most of our work is generated through word of mouth and referrals.”

  “And what kind of work is that?”

  “I’m a security specialist. We cover corporate security, cyber security, installations, personal protection, that kind of thing.”

  “Interesting. What exactly qualifies one as a security specialist?”

  There’s an insult wrapped in that question somewhere, but I can’t be bothered to be offended. Not worth feeding into the negative energy.

  “In my case, former Special Forces.”

  As Willa predicted, that grabs his attention. His eyes narrow on me.

  “That so? You’re still young, why former?”

  I look over at Willa, who seems to be observing the interaction with more than a little interest. I raise an eyebrow in question and she clues in when I tug on my pant leg. Her slight shrug is answer enough.

  I reveal my prosthesis and note Josie’s sharp intake of breath.

  “Cool!” Britt exclaims, immediately followed by, “I mean not cool that you have no leg, but cool I’ve never seen a fake one up close.”

  “Brittany, hush,” Josie stage-whispers.

  I grin at the girl. She is just like Willa. No pretenses. I like it. Willa herself chuckles softly.

  “I’ll show you later,” I tell Britt, who looks almost giddy at the prospect.

  Hey, I remember my own insatiable curiosity at twelve, and I would’ve been morbidly fascinated with a prosthesis myself at that age.

  “IED,” Willa answers her father’s unasked question.

  “Where?” he directs at me.

  “Iraq.”

  He seems to mull on that before he leans forward, his elbows on his knees.

  “Say—do you play golf?”

  Willa and I simultaneously burst out laughing.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Willa

  “Oh my God, look how cute she is!”

  I smile watching Britt sit on the concrete floor at the shelter, being licked to death by the most unsightly dog I’ve ever seen. Something of a mix between a pug and a schnauzer, with bristly hair sticking out all over her face and back, while the rest of her fur was short and flat. She was so ugly it was adorable. The big brown, bulging eyes, and slight underbite, combined with the rapid wagging of her ratty tail made her impossible to resist.

  “What the fuck is that?” Dimas whispers behind me, making me snort.

  “A dog.”

  “That’s not a dog, it’s a fucking gremlin,” he grumbles, and I elbow him in the gut.

  “Hush. Britt’s in love.”

  My niece was up early this morning, bouncing to get the day going. We’d told her yesterday about the possibility of volunteering at the animal shelter, and she’d been over the moon.

  When my parents left on Saturday—after my father finally accepted that Dimas would not be a new golf buddy—Britt settled in easily. We took her out for dinner and a movie that night, and she rolled into bed the moment we got home. Not even once did she question why Dimas was around.

  He’s good with her, funny, attentive, and I have to admit my ovaries may have tingled a little watching their easygoing interaction. It’s fun having Britt around. It distracts from the mess I seem to find myself in.

  Yesterday after breakfast Dimas had taken off for a few hours, making me promise to stay home with Britt until he got back. She and I had a great time, just hanging out and catching up. She mentioned her parents briefly but I didn’t push it. Lots of time to open that dialogue.

  Dimas came back late afternoon with steak and baking potatoes, using my barbecue to cook a surprisingly delicious meal. I was allowed to chop vegetables for a salad and Britt surprised me by helping. As it turned out, my twelve-year-old niece is sadly more adept at handling food than I am.

  Last night I discovered Dimas had also brought back a large duffel, holding his laptop, a good amount of clothes, and his toiletries. He was settling in too, something that happened silently and without fanfa
re. Never having lived with anyone but family, or a roommate while I was in Germany, I would’ve expected it to feel invasive to have him everywhere in my space, but it’s not.

  I’m aware circumstances are the reason for him temporarily moving in, but that doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying it. Maybe even hoping…

  “She seems to be getting along well with the animals.”

  I turn to find Bree’s friend, Steve, watching Britt handle the dog. She already has the schnug sitting and giving paws.

  “I knew she’d love this,” I tell him. “Are you sure she’ll be okay here?”

  “She’ll be fine,” he reassures me with a smile. “Natasha is our other volunteer. She just turned fourteen and this is her second summer with us. I’ll put the two of them together until Britt is settled in.”

  We don’t stay long after that. Britt barely notices us leaving.

  Rosie had called earlier to let me know my office was cleared, and I’m eager to check in with my residents. Dimas is supposed to drop me off before he heads into the office for a few hours. PASS apparently has had eyes on the shelter since Rupert was found, and although I’m not sure what that means exactly, it does give a sense of security. Besides, Rosie and Ron are there as well, it’s not like I’ll be alone.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, when he gets out of the truck at the shelter.

  “Walking you inside,” he says, casually draping his arm around my shoulders.

  “It’s twenty feet to the door, I think I can manage,” I scoff.

  He stops us and steps in front of me, his hands sliding down to my upper arms.

  “I can’t open the door for you when I’m sitting in the truck,” he points out the obvious. “I can’t kiss you properly leaning over the center console.” I’d have to agree with that. “And I don’t want you walking into the next potential crisis without me there to back you up.” He leans in closer. “That’s why I’m walking you inside.”

  Oh, boy. I’m having a melty moment.

  I’ve always thought of myself as tough and self-reliant, but apparently I have a softer side. One Dimas seems able to tap into with ease. Not sure if that is worrisome, or cause for celebration. I’ll reserve judgment on that. For now.

  A couple of the guys are playing cards in the dining room off the lobby and I wave as we pass. Rosie’s door is shut but I can hear a boisterous, deep laugh filtering from inside. Opening the door to my office, I notice traces of black dust in a few places and see my carpet’s been removed. A small shiver runs down my spine at the thought Rupert may have been stabbed right here. Dimas seems to guess my thoughts.

  “He wasn’t killed here. All they found was a small blood smear on the carpet. They likely took the whole thing to the lab for processing. Someone must’ve cleaned up the fingerprint dust.”

  “Probably Rosie.”

  “Yeah.” He pulls me in his arms. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay here? Say the word and you can just tag along with me.”

  Tempting, but I have a job that needs looking after, and besides, it’s not like me to cower in someone’s shadow. Even if the someone comes in as enticing a package as Dimas.

  I lift my face and put my hands on his shoulders, pulling myself up to kiss him soundly on the lips.

  “I’m fine,” I barely have a chance to mumble before his mouth covers mine. His arms band tightly around me, keeping me partially suspended as his tongue plunges deep. He grunts down my throat as he slowly lowers me, the prominent ridge of his hard cock brushing my lower belly.

  He makes me feel safe and surrounded. His strong arms at my back making me feel treasured, and his hungry mouth conveying his desire. I softly groan when he lifts his head, those clear green eyes fixed on mine.

  “Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll be back at four so we can pick up Britt.”

  “Okay.”

  Once again he kisses me, short but thoroughly, before letting me go. I reach behind me to grab the edge of my desk as he turns to leave, stopping suddenly.

  “Whoo-wee! That kiss about blistered my eyeballs.”

  Two men are standing with a smiling Rosie in the hallway, right outside my door. One a fiftyish, nicely dressed, gray-haired man, the other a broadly grinning black man in a loud Hawaiian shirt and board shorts. I’m guessing he’s the one who spoke.

  “Grant. Richard,” Dimas rumbles in greeting, clearly knowing the men.

  “I was hoping to introduce you,” Rosie says, looking at me. “This is my best friend, Grant.” She indicates the black man. “And this is his husband, Richard. They just came back from a three-month honeymoon in the Bahamas. Guys, this is the Willa I’ve been telling you about.”

  I step around Dimas, who is lingering in the doorway, and first shake Richard’s hand before turning to Grant. He completely ignores my extended hand and instead wraps me in a bear hug.

  “Dayumn, Sunhine, but you’ve got great taste,” he booms.

  I look up to find that wasn’t directed at me but over my shoulder.

  Sunshine?

  “Thanks, I think.” I chuckle, looking at Dimas behind me. His head is tilted back, eyes on the ceiling, which only makes me laugh harder. “Weren’t you going to work…Sunshine?”

  “I fuckin’ am now,” he grumbles. “Richard, good to see you survived your honeymoon. Grant, it’s been real. See you later, Rosie.” Then he turns to me, hooking a hand behind my neck before planting a quick kiss on my mouth. “Four.”

  “You’re perfect,” Grant declares before Dimas is even out the door. “Isn’t she perfect, Ricky?”

  “She is.” The other man smiles indulgently at him.

  “Like a beautiful Amazon warrior. I just wanna bet you really blew that boy’s hair back. Did she, Rosebud?” He turns to Rosie, who is grinning wide. Seems Grant has a nickname for everyone.

  “From the moment he laid eyes on her,” she confirms, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.

  Really?

  “We should get going, honey,” Richard announces. “We haven’t even checked if the house is still standing.” To me he clarifies, “Grant had to see Rosie as soon as we got in.”

  “Of course I did,” Grant says, bending down to kiss Rosie’s baby bump. “Had to see for myself how much Little Bitsy’s grown.”

  That’s sweet. Must be so nice to have friends like that. I can’t help smile at the contrast between petite, redheaded Rosie and Grant.

  I watch as he kisses her cheek before he takes a step toward me and does the same.

  “See you, Rosebud.”

  With a wave the two set off down the hall when Grant turns his head and shouts over his shoulder.

  “Later, Xena!”

  Dimas

  “Good to see you back, Bro,” I tell Yanis when I walk into him outside his office. “When did you get in?”

  “Last night. Don’t get comfortable,” he says, when I’m about to sit down at my desk. “We’re meeting Hank at the courthouse. Bring your checkbook.”

  I follow him into the garage and hop in the passenger seat of his Yukon.

  “What’s happening?”

  “A meeting with the judge. Hank says the DA is willing to consent to a request for his release without prejudice. We may have to step up to guarantee Brad won’t skip the country, by word or by bail. Either way, Hank doesn’t think the judge will go for it on his word alone.”

  “Whatever needs to be done,” I vow, and I can feel him look at me.

  “It may be necessary for you to speak to Brad’s mental condition, Dimi,” he cautions me. “You’re the only one who knows what it means for him to be locked up.”

  “Whatever needs to be done,” I repeat through clenched teeth.

  The rest of the drive is silent.

  Hank is waiting outside the courthouse when we pull up.

  “Let’s go. The judge has allowed us fifteen minutes to make our case. We’ll need every last one of them.”

  I’ve been in the
newer courthouse a few times, but have never visited a judge’s chambers. Not too shabby. Judge Marshall’s office is lined in oak paneling and bookshelves spanning both walls. Impressive. As is the judge behind the massive desk. I didn’t know Judge Marshall was a woman. A very fine-looking woman at that. Already seated across from her is the same older man I briefly saw at the police station with Hank last week.

  Hank takes care of introductions and I find out the name of the DA is Edward Russell. No one bothers shaking hands, it’s not that kind of gathering, and Judge Marshall directs us to sit down.

  “Tell me why I’m giving up a good chunk of my lunch recess to listen to something that would be more appropriately dealt with in an in-court session?”

  Not exactly a promising start.

  “Your Honor,” Hank starts. “We’ve put in a motion for the court to release Mr. Carey without prejudice, based on new developments in this case.”

  “Mr. Fredericks, I have the motion in front of me. I can see right here the DA is not contesting, but what I’d like to know is why this can’t wait for a proper court appointment. Get to the point. You’re wasting my time.”

  I like an assertive woman. Heck, I love that about Willa, but this woman has me crossing my legs and covering my jewels. Talk about a ball-buster.

  “Very well,” Hank concedes. “Your Honor, Brad Carey is a former POW. He was captured by insurgents on his last tour in Iraq, and held prisoner for five months before a special operations team was able to extract him. His conditions had been deplorable, but Mr. Mazur here can better tell you that. He was one of the men who rescued Mr. Carey.”

  The judge’s eyes come to me appraisingly before she simply says, “Please.”

  I decide to keep it brief and to the point.

  “Your Honor, aside from the daily torture Brad had to endure, he’d been kept in an underground cell too small for an adult to stretch in any direction. When I pulled him out, he was barely able to stand, let alone straight. We were on our way to the rendezvous point where the bird—I’m sorry, helicopter,” I explain but she holds up her hand.