Not Until You Part III

by Roni Loren

  Andre put his hands on the breakfast bar, palms flat, and leaned forward. “Maybe not, but I’m asking you, man-to-man, to stay away from Marcela. She’s leaving soon and doesn’t need any complications in her life. She’s worked hard and has a nice life waiting for her back home. I know how guys like you—like us—can affect a woman who’s innocent to our world. It can be overwhelming and exciting, can make them question what they want. Don’t do that to Cela. Have a fling with someone else.”

  Being told what to do by anyone raised Foster’s hackles, but he couldn’t deny the truth in Andre’s words. Even if Cela had wanted something more than last night, which she obviously didn’t, it’d be irresponsible for him to open up that submission, expose it, with only a few weeks together. Discovering that side of yourself brought up a lot of shit, even for a dominant. Coming to terms with those feelings and urges often took time and a support system, someone to guide a person through the pitfalls.

  The idea teased at him like the scent of forbidden fruit. He’d love to be the one to lead Cela through that, uncover the layers of submission if last night hadn’t been a fluke and that need was truly there. He gripped the counter behind him, trying to get a hold on his quickly derailing thoughts. “You have nothing to worry about. Cela is a great girl, but I’m looking for a long-term sub. I steer clear of vanilla girls. Usually. Like I said, last night wasn’t planned.”

  Andre straightened and nodded. “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page then.”

  Foster smirked. “So I guess Cela doesn’t know anything about your . . . proclivities.”

  For a brief moment, the hardened-cop act flickered, and Andre’s shoulders dipped as if heavy hands were pushing down on them. “No, she doesn’t know any of it. She wouldn’t understand. My family wouldn’t understand. And I’d appreciate it if you don’t say anything to her.”

  The coffee pot beeped, but Foster kept his attention on Andre. Foster knew what it was like to have to hide part of yourself. And from what he knew of Andre’s situation, the guy was having to hide a helluva lot. “I wouldn’t, but Cela may be more understanding than you think.”

  Frown lines etched his face. “See you around, Foster.”

  And with that, he was out the door.

  The second Medina to walk away from him in a day.

  Chapter 12

  “You okay, boss?”

  “Hmm . . .” Foster turned away from the computer screen.

  Lindy, his assistant, nodded toward his computer. “You’re on the same newspaper article you were on when I stopped in here half an hour ago.”

  “Oh, right.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Guess I’m having trouble focusing today.”

  “Rough weekend?” she asked, setting the takeout lunch he’d ordered on the corner of his desk.

  “You could say that.” Rough. Amazing. Frustrating.

  Lindy lifted a file folder in her other hand and waggled it in the air. “This should cheer you up. They found that little girl in Ohio last night. Scared to death and hungry but totally unharmed. She’d wandered off and gotten lost in the woods outside of her neighborhood. The Home Safe bracelet led them right to her.”

  “Thank God.” A wash of relief went through him. No matter how many times he got that kind of news, each successful outcome was a triumph to be celebrated. And he had to hang on to those because he knew how many similar stories didn’t wrap up with that kind of happy ending. “That absolutely does cheer me up.”

  “The father called in a few minutes ago. He wanted to know what he could do to thank you or help get the word out about our products. He’s already mentioned us in their local newspaper.”

  Foster took the file from Lindy and opened it. The big smile of five-year-old Madison Dore greeted him. He touched the photo, the memory of another little girl always hovering at the edge of his mind. One who hadn’t been found. He closed the file quickly. “Tell him there’s no need to thank us. But if he really wants to help, he can make a donation of bracelets to a local school or he can do a testimonial for the website.”

  “Awesome. I’ll tell him. And I’ll add her picture to the board. That’s fifteen this year. And the tenth for the bracelets alone.” She did a little fist pump. “Go team!”

  He laughed. His assistant’s enthusiasm was one of the main reasons he’d hired her. There were often dark days at 4N. The situations they made products for weren’t happy ones. So the office needed all the positivity it could get. “Been hitting the coffee hard today?”

  Lindy gave a sheepish smile. “Diet Mountain Dew, but yeah, probably need to lay off a bit.”

  “Go eat something, absorb some of that caffeine.” He grabbed the bag of takeout. “I’ve got an article to read.”

  “The key is to read left . . . to . . . right,” she said, talking slowly like he didn’t understand English.

  He tossed a ball of paper at her. “Out, minion.”

  Lindy shut his office door, and he pulled out the roast beef sandwich she’d brought in. But right as he was about to take his first bite, his cell phone rang with a familiar thrashing drumbeat. He sighed and pressed the speaker button on the phone. “Hey.”

  “Whoa, you actually picked up,” Pike said, the sound of car noise in the background. “I tried to catch you before you left this morning, then tried to call.”

  “I had a lot waiting for me here, had to leave a little early and then got caught up in something.” He took a bite of his sandwich, not wanting to have this conversation.

  “Uh-huh. You’re pissed at me. I get it.”

  “Hmm?” he asked, the noise muffled by his half-full mouth.

  “Don’t be a dick. You’ve been avoiding me since Saturday,” Pike said, no ire in his voice. “Look, man, if you didn’t want me to touch her again, you should’ve said something. I would’ve backed off. You just had to say the word.”

  Foster set his sandwich down, the bite he’d taken turning to sawdust in his mouth. “That wasn’t my place. I don’t have any say over her. You touched her, she didn’t tell you no. That’s that.”

  “Right. So if I go home today and head over to her place for a little afternoon delight, you’re totally cool with that.”

  His fist clenched around his soda, nearly busting the disposable cup. “Do it and I’ll fucking castrate you.”

  Pike’s loud laugh echoed from the speaker. “Man, I love it when I’m right.”

  Foster grunted. “That’s because it’s so rare, it’s worthy of celebration.”

  “Touché. So have you called her?”

  “I checked in with her yesterday just to make sure she was okay.”

  He sniffed. “Checked on her? What the fuck? Because sex with you is so earth-shattering she needed a follow-up?”

  Foster grabbed the phone to take it off speaker and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “No. Because Cela was a virgin.”

  “What? A . . .” Pike’s words trailed off like the term virgin was so foreign, he couldn’t even speak it aloud. “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah. I didn’t realize it until it was too late.”

  “Jesus.” Foster could picture Pike shaking his head in disbelief. “That chick’s fucking brave. Losing your virginity in a three way? That’s a rock-star move right there.”

  Foster tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, trying not to think of Cela walking into that bathroom with Pike. He couldn’t get the image out of his head. He’d stood there and done nothing even when she’d looked back at him with question marks in her eyes. What an asshole. Instead of stepping up and telling her he didn’t want her to go, he’d let his ego win. He’d wanted her to turn down Pike, to come to him on her own volition.

  “So are you going to take her out again?”

  He wanted to. God, did he want to. If nothing else than to give her the night she should’ve had for her first ti
me. “There’s no point. You know I don’t date vanilla girls.”

  “She didn’t seem all that vanilla this weekend,” Pike lobbed back.

  “And she’s leaving in a few weeks.”

  “Yeah, the leaving part kind of sucks,” he said, his tone resigned. “But are you just going to ignore what happened? I mean, you took the chick’s virginity, man. Shouldn’t there be some sort of something after that? A debriefing or whatever.”

  Foster snorted. “A debriefing?”

  “What? I don’t know the fucking term for it. But walking away and pretending it didn’t happen is a dick move. Even I know that much.” A car door slammed in the background and the connection got fuzzy with the wind. “If you’re not going to say something to her . . .”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Foster said, cutting him off, irritated that Pike was pointing out everything that had been driving Foster crazy over the past two days. Like he didn’t know it was a shit move that he’d barely managed a few sentences when he’d called to check on Cela the next day, or that he’d changed the time of his run this morning so he wouldn’t bump into her.

  There was a swift rap on his door. Lindy stuck her head inside. “Sorry to interrupt but there’s an Agent Long from the FBI on the line for you.”

  Foster’s grip on his phone tightened, that familiar sick feeling at the mention of a call from the FBI eclipsing his ruminating. Foster only talked to Agent Long about once a year and usually it was to get a no-news update. But Foster had just talked to him a month ago, and the man never called him. “Pike, I’ve gotta go. Important call.”

  He hit the Off button and nodded at Lindy. “Put him through.”

  A few seconds later, Foster picked up his office phone. “Agent Long, what’s happened?”

  Long didn’t waste time with greetings or niceties. “We may have a lead.”

  The breath gusted from Foster’s chest. How long had it been since he’d heard those words? The case had been cold for so long he’d doubted he’d ever hear them again. “What kind of lead?”

  “It’s not much. But a guard overheard some jailhouse talk this weekend, a name was dropped, a nickname, and some details that seemed to fit the case. The years would work out.” He cleared his throat, and there was the sound of shuffling papers. “We’re going to go in and question the guy, see if we can get him to give us more. But I wanted to give you a heads up.”

  Foster’s stomach twisted, the desire to have the knowledge about as strong as the desire to want to cover his ears and never know. “Thanks for calling.”

  “Do you want me to notify your parents?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “Until you have something solid, let them be.”

  “I understand. I’ll get in touch when I know more.”

  “Thank you, Agent Long.”

  Foster hung up the phone and tossed his sandwich in the trash, his appetite gone and a restless need to do something productive burning through him. Work. That’s what he could control. He couldn’t control whether or not Agent Long could find what they needed. He couldn’t control that his parents probably wouldn’t take his call even if he tried to contact them. And he couldn’t control how things had gone down with Cela Friday night. But this office, the people in it, the services they provided—that he had ultimate authority over.

  He pressed a button on his phone. “Lindy, let the R & D department know that I want a briefing in an hour on where we’re at with the smartphone app.”

  “An hour? But, sir, they said they’re not quite ready to . . .”

  “Tell them to figure it out.” He hung up the phone, feeling a shred better.

  Taking the reins always moved things back into place inside himself, whether it be at work or behind closed doors. He didn’t like variables and unknowns. Didn’t like surprises. And after all the surprises he’d experienced with Cela Friday night, he was desperate to do something that would put his world back into the right boxes.

  He didn’t need a temptation like Cela shuffling everything around in his brain.

  He’d talk to her. That was the right thing to do.

  But it’d only be to say good-bye.

  ***

  I sat on the top of the picnic bench in the grassy area next to my building, enjoying the sunshine and the very un-Texas-like seventy-degree day, and threw the rubber ball Gerald had handed me. Gerald’s Maltese mix, Sammi, took off like she’d been launched from a cannon to chase down the ball, her tail wagging so hard, it was only a blur. I grinned. “I love that it never gets old for dogs. Same game over and over and they’re happy.”

  Gerald smiled as he watched Sammi tumble in the grass when she pounced on the ball. “Yeah, she loves running. I feel bad that she’s cooped up most of the day. I’m hoping to be able to rent a house with a yard one day soon.”

  “You could always look for a dog walker or a sitter for her while you’re at work. A lot of college students do it for cheap.”

  “Do it for cheap, huh?” He turned to me, his blond hair falling into his eyes and the corner of his mouth curling. “You volunteering?”

  For some reason, the question made the back of my neck prickle. I shook off the odd feeling. “Nah, I’m leaving in a few weeks, so I’m not a good candidate. But I can give you a few names of my classmates if you’d like. My friend, Bailey, has done it for a few families.”

  “Leaving?” Gerald’s smile dropped. “Well, damn, I didn’t know that. I’m going to have to take you to dinner before you head out. Thank you for all the advice you’ve given me about Sammi.”

  “Uh, I—”

  “She can’t do that,” a firm male voice said.

  I startled at the sudden interruption, then spun around to find its source.

  Gerald turned with me, scowling. “Excuse me?”

  Foster stood behind the picnic table, arms crossed, laptop bag slung over his shoulder, and a fierce expression on his face. “You asked her out. I said she can’t go.”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded.

  “And who the hell are you?” Gerald asked, an edge creeping into my neighbor’s normally affable demeanor.

  “Not your concern.” His gaze slid to me. “Come on, Cela.”

  I reared up at his bossy tone. All these days with barely a phone call and now he was going to order me around? Screw that. “I’m playing with Gerald’s dog.”

  Foster’s mouth thinned. “I think he wants you to play with more than that.”

  My jaw fell open, and Gerald jumped to his feet. “The fuck’s your problem, asshole?”

  Gerald stalked toward Foster, but Foster didn’t move. He simply stared the coldest stare I’d ever seen a person give another. Even my blood chilled, and the look wasn’t directed at me.

  “Yes, please,” Foster said smoothly as Gerald neared. “Give me a reason to hit you. I’d so enjoy that.”

  Gerald halted, clearly disconcerted. “Look, man. I don’t know what your problem is, but don’t fucking threaten me. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  “I know exactly who I’m dealing with.” He pinned me with his gaze. “But there will be no problem as long as Cela comes with me and you don’t ever talk to her again.”

  “She doesn’t have to go—”

  “Hold up.” This was going downhill fast. Sammi was barking at my feet, and Foster looked as if he could truly kill Gerald. I hopped off the table, my hands out in front of me. “Both of y’all just calm down. I’ll go.” I looked to Foster. “I’ll go, all right?”

  Gerald straightened. “If this guy—”

  “It’s fine. He’s a friend.” I stepped next to Foster, and he immediately grasped my elbow, as if afraid I’d change my mind. I had no idea what was going on with him, but the last thing I wanted was a brawl outside the apartment complex. “I’ll see you later. Bye, Sammi.”

  The
dog did a little spin and yapped happily in reply.

  “Let’s go.” Foster turned me with him without another word and led me toward the building.

  But I wasn’t letting him get away without an explanation. As soon as we cleared the lobby doors, I turned toward him, shaking his grip. “What the hell was that? Have you lost your mind?”

  “You don’t need to talk to that scum,” he said, the disgust clear on his face before he turned to climb the stairs.

  I followed behind him, seeing red. “Excuse me? Did I miss the part where you have the right to tell me who I can talk to?”

  He spun around, two steps higher than me, expression grim. “Gerald Mondale is a registered sex offender. He used to be a high school teacher until a freshman girl came forward with molestation charges. He got early parole on a technicality.”

  My stomach dipped. “Oh my God.”

  Foster climbed up the rest of the stairs, and I trailed behind in stunned silence. Gerald? The neighbor I’d chatted with almost weekly about his sweet little dog? When we both reached the hallway, Foster turned back to face me. “I know I don’t have the right to tell you who to talk to. But when I saw you with him, heard him make a pass at you, I wanted to choke the words right out of him. Promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

  My throat was knotted and dry, the post-danger rush of adrenaline filling my veins. But I managed to nod. “Sure, yeah, I promise.”

  He gave a swift, matching nod. “Good. Thank you.”

  I stared at him for a few long moments, the from-a-distance crush I’d had for him before Friday night now morphing into a desperate longing inside my chest. I wanted to step forward, press against him, loosen that tie from around his neck and wipe that tense expression off his face. But everything about him said I wasn’t invited. I tore my gaze away to glance toward my apartment door. “Well, I better get going.”

  “Cela . . .” he said, his gentle tone tearing into me.

  God, why did that make me want to cry? What the hell was wrong with me? I’d seen Pike in the hallway earlier when I was heading out, and it hadn’t been like this at all. I forced my gaze back to his. “So is this where we have the awkward ‘let’s still be friends’ conversation?”