Dirty Rich Cinderella Story: Ever After: Lori & Cole

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “I called for that the entire trial,” she says. “I do what I do because I have the power to make a difference in ways just like this. You and Cole and even the ADA are tied up. I am the only one who can move the dial. My readership is vocal and loyal, which is an honor they have allowed me because I talk to them in an honest way. They need to hear this.”

  “Cat, I don’t think—”

  “I started writing the article before Cole even called and right now I’m almost to your place. I want you to help me put the finishing touches on it. I want to turn it in for tomorrow’s publication.”

  “Yes, please. Come over so I can talk you out of this.”

  “Your hubby wants me to do it,” she says, a smile in her voice. “See you soon.” She disconnects.

  I immediately try to dial Cole. He doesn’t answer. He went to the jail to see Roger. I know he did. My mind goes to Savage and I hurry out of the bedroom in hopes he can find out. I all but run down the stairs and hear him cursing, which only serves to freak me out and quicken my steps even more. “What’s wrong?” I demand, and he stands up to face me over the top of the couch.

  “Sports,” he says. “Sorry about that. I curse when my team wins and I curse when my team loses.”

  I breathe out. “Okay. I think Cole went to the jail to see Roger. Can you find out?”

  “Yeah, sure. Hold on.” He slides his phone from his pocket and punches a button. “Yeah man,” he says to whoever he connects to. “Where’s Cole now? Got it. Later.” He disconnects. “At the jail.”

  “Which explains why he’s not taking my calls.”

  The doorbell rings and I turn toward it and Savage protests. “Don’t even think about it. I already let you get attacked once.”

  “That wasn’t your fault.”

  He scrubs his two day-ish dark stubble. “Damn sure feels like it was.” He heads for the door.

  “It’s Cat,” I call out.

  “I know that as well as I knew the bathroom was clear,” he replies. “I’ll get the door. You stay here.” He charges toward the entryway.

  I wait anxiously and the minute Cat appears with Reese by her side, I focus on him. “He’s at the jail. Should he be talking to Roger by himself?”

  Reese is the one cursing now. “I’ll go there now.” He kisses Cat. “I’ll call you when I can.” With that, he’s already headed toward the door.

  I press my hands to my face. “What are you doing, Cole?” I murmur, as if he can hear me.

  Cat closes the space between us and grabs my hands. “You okay?”

  “Not until he’s okay. Please don’t write that article. I cannot have you end up in the line of fire, too.”

  “I’m not going to get hurt. We need to catch a killer. That’s what we all do together. And I know Cole knows this, but there is always a risk, but it’s a limited risk. Come read it.” She pats her briefcase. “And then you and Savage can give me ideas.”

  “I’m in,” Savage says, turning off the television. “I like to catch me a bad guy, always, and our team is in on this now.”

  “Let’s go make coffee,” Cat suggests.

  I nod and a few minutes later I’m sitting with both of them in the kitchen reading Cat’s article out loud, focused on one important section:

  What is the role of the District Attorney? Is it to get a conviction at all costs, including the life of an innocent man, or is it to convict the right person? If you didn’t answer “convict the right person,” let me give you something to think about. If Edward Sullivan wasn’t guilty, and a jury says he was not, who raped and killed those women? And can someone like that just stop killing? Statistically, the answer is no, they will not. Maybe they moved on to another city, state, or even country, but that killer is out there. What if you, or someone you love, is the next victim?

  A reliable source has told me that law enforcement, and I include the DA in this category, has leads they could follow up on to catch the real killer, but they have not. That would, of course, require that they admit they attacked and ruined the life of an innocent man. Let’s just face it. Even if you’re innocent, if you’re accused of raping and killing four women, you will always be a rapist and a killer. What do you say on a date? By the way, I was on trial for rape and murder, but don’t worry! I was innocent.

  We must demand that the District Attorney, and our members of law enforcement, uphold their honor to protect us, and I for one, do not feel protected. I feel naked and exposed. If you too feel naked and exposed, I challenge you to tweet, call and even visit the offices of the people I will list out at the end of today’s entry of Cat Does Crime. Until tomorrow, stay safe —Cat

  “That’s damn good and accurate,” Savage says. “Too often the politics of an organization win and the DA just wants to calm the public and ensure election year goes well. It’s an effed-up mess.”

  Cat looks at me. “Well?”

  “You’re saying ‘look at me’ to a killer.”

  “I disagree,” she says, “but hey. If Reese wants to take me to Paris to get me out of town, like Cole just did you, I’m in.” She scoots her MacBook to the side. “Let’s talk about the suspects.”

  “For what purpose?” I ask, growing more and more concerned about her putting herself on the line.

  “For the purpose of my team following up,” Savage says, glancing at Cat, clearly thinking what I’m thinking as he says, “Right, Cat? Because this article is enough. We’ll take it from there.”

  “Correct,” she says. “Reese and I agreed that I’d pull back after the article ignites fire for my readers.” She looks at me. “Let’s do what we do. Let’s investigate for a book we’ll write together later, after Savage and his people catch the killer.”

  “There was a boyfriend of one of the victims and another professor who worked with our client, teaching in the same building,” I say. “We used them both in the trial to create reasonable doubt but I always believed it was the boyfriend.” I look at Savage and change subjects. “Can you check on Cole?”

  “He’s fine,” he says. “My team has eyes on him.”

  I stand up. “I’m going to try to call him again.” I punch in his auto-dial and start to walk out of the room, but I get his voicemail. I turn to face Cat. “Can you call Reese?”

  “He’s not been gone that long,” she says, patting the table. “Come sit. I’ll order us cookies from the corner bakery and we’ll stuff our faces and solve this murder so your man can stop fretting.”

  “Yes. Please. To all of those things.”

  ***

  Cole

  I’m standing in the holding room when Reese is brought in to join me. “You didn’t need to come.”

  “If you kill the guy,” he says, “I’m out a new partner and that can’t happen.”

  He steps to me, close enough to ensure anyone listening is tuned out. “You could make things worse.”

  “Or I could convince him that we’ll find the real killer,” I say.

  “Or you could jump over the desk and beat the shit out of him like I would if he attacked Cat, and end up in jail yourself.”

  “It would be worth it.”

  “No,” he says. “It wouldn’t. We’ll take this on together, man. You and Lori are family. We’ll do this together.”

  Family. He hits about ten nerves with that statement, a few I didn’t know still existed until that bathroom, until I saw that man charging at my wife. “Lori is my wife.”

  “And our family,” he argues.

  The door buzzes and we both turn to face the guard. “He said to tell you that the only place he’ll see you is a dark alleyway and ‘fuck you.’ And yes, I’ll write up a sworn statement to that effect, but you shouldn’t be here. You need to leave.”

  “We’re leaving now,” Reese assures him.

  My jaw clenches and I look skyward, not sure if I really wanted to talk to that man or beat the shit out of him. I’m pretty sure the latter. Yea
h. The latter. I was going to hurt him. I want to hurt him. I grab my briefcase and head for the door and I don’t stop until I’m exiting the building with Reese quickly stepping to my side. “My car—”

  “No,” I say glancing over at him. “I’m walking. I need to clear my head.”

  “Talk to me, man.”

  “I need to clear my head.”

  “Cole, stop.”

  Fuck. I stop and face him. “I need—”

  “I get it, but this is you and me. What is going on in your head?”

  “Nothing good fun and fucking my wife won’t solve, preferably in the opposite order, but not yet. I need to think. I love you, man, but give me some space.”

  He studies me a moment and reluctantly, it seems, he nods. “You know where to find me.”

  “I do,” I say and I start walking again.

  ***

  Lori

  Two hours after Reese went after Cole, he returns, without Cole. Savage collects him from the door, and he joins us in the kitchen. “He’s clearing his head. He’ll be back soon.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He’ll be home soon,” he assures me, but he isn’t home soon.

  Two hours later, I’m still in the kitchen with Cat, Reese, and Savage, working the clues to the murders, but I’m barely hearing anything they say. I’m about to try to call Cole again when the front door opens and closes. I am immediately on my feet and before I can even leave the kitchen, Cole appears in the doorway, the lines of his handsome face, strained and hard.

  His eyes meet mine, and I can’t read what I find there when I can always read Cole. “I need to be alone with my wife,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine.

  There are murmurs of agreement and Reese motions to Cat to follow him. Everyone disappears from the kitchen but me, and I quickly pursue. By the time I’m in the living room, Cole is joining me, lacing his fingers with mine to walk us to the couch where he sits down and drags me on top of him. He doesn’t speak, he just tangles his fingers in my hair and says, “I have something to tell you.” But he doesn’t tell me. He kisses me. A deep, dark tormented kiss that says more than words.

  He has to tell me, but he doesn’t want to.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Lori

  Cole is still kissing me and I cannot breathe for the emotion in this kiss, the hunger, the torment. It bleeds into me and I feel as if he is bleeding and I don’t know how to make it stop. I want to ask questions. I want to demand he tell me what is wrong before I explode with fear of what it might be, but that’s not what he needs in this very moment. I sense this, too. He needs me to wait. He wants to tell me. He’s said he’s going to tell me what this is, and I trust this man, with all that I am, I trust this man.

  His fingers tangle in my hair, his tongue licking, stroking, and I slide my hand under his T-shirt, pressing my palms to his warm skin pulled taut over hard muscle. He reaches behind him and pulls it over his head, and already he’s stripping mine away as well. I’m left in only my thin black lace bra and his gaze lowers to the swell of my breasts over the lace and then lifts. “You aren’t going to ask what I want to tell you?”

  “Are you ready to tell me?”

  “No,” he says, his voice a rough timbre. “I’m not.”

  “Then why would I ask?”

  He slides his hand behind my neck and kisses me, a deep slide of tongue before he says, “God, I love you, woman. You are never what I expect.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “I married you, didn’t I?”

  “Yes which means whatever it is, it’s ours to deal with now. You know that, right?”

  “But I didn’t want it to be yours,” he says. “I didn’t.”

  “I know, but—”

  “You don’t know,” he says, and then he is kissing me again, a drugging, intense possession, and I don’t even know where he begins and I end. I sink into the moment, into this man that I love so very much, and time sways and shifts. I don’t know anything but his lips, his touch, his taste. I don’t even know how my bra disappears, only that it’s gone and he’s pressing my hands to his knees behind me, as I continue to straddle him. His fingers splay between my shoulder blades, bracing me, holding me, his other hand palming my breast, while his lips, teeth, and tongue tease my opposite nipple. He is everywhere, consuming me, and I want to reach for him, to touch him, and he seems to react, his hand sliding away from my back, forcing me to hold myself up or fall. I’m at his mercy, and I don’t know why, but I am certain that this is what he needs right now. This is about trust, mine in him and his in me. And it’s most definitely about control. He wants it. He needs it. He’s trying to find his way back to it. With me, in this moment, he has it. When we’re like this, he always has it.

  He continues to tease my nipples with his mouth, his fingers, even his teeth; he’s relentless in all that he does, his hands roaming up and down my body, my back, my sides, my belly. His mouth the same, and then back to my nipples, until I’m panting out, “Cole,” in desperation, a plea that I don’t even know how I want answered.

  He drags his mouth to the hollow between my breasts, his lips pressing there, lingering for eternal moments. His eyes lift to mine, and in that breath, and the beats that follow, he is somehow dark, edgy, out of himself, and yet, so very tender at the same time. There is love in this look, in this touch of his lips. There is torment. There is regret that I want to understand. I want to take away his pain and there is so much pain that I never knew was in this man.

  I am lost in everything he is, and we are lost in this moment when he drags me to him, his hand on the back of my head again. He kisses me, a tease of his tongue against my tongue, before he sets me on the ground in front of him, his hands on my hips. “Undress,” he orders softly.

  There’s no part of me that resists a command from Cole, not like this, not when we’re alone, naked, and just us. Not when I feel how much he needs me to just accept what he needs. I reach for my pants, even as I toe off my sneakers, wasting no time ridding myself of my jeans, and when I would reach for my panties, Cole stops me. His hands come to my hips and he turns me to face the other direction. “Now take them off,” he orders.

  I suck in air, a mix of heat and awareness rushing through me. We’re back to control; Cole spinning out of control. Right now, he needs what he doesn’t have. He needs that control. And so, I willingly do as he says, dragging the silk down my hips, and letting it pool at my feet, where I kick them away. With that control thing in the air, I expect Cole to keep me this way, my back to him. I expect him to spank me, or bend me over, or something that doesn’t happen. His hands come down on my waist, and his teeth scrape my hip before he’s turning me to face him and dragging me into his lap, my legs straddling his hips.

  Once I’m there, he’s kissing me, a drugging, intense, burn-me-inside-out kiss, that is forever and not long enough. Suddenly he’s pressing me backward again, my hands on his knees, my breasts thrust high in the air, and his eyes raking over my naked, exposed body. The look in his eyes is as hot as they are tormented. He drags his hands over my breasts, down my waist and then his fingers are between my legs, stroking my sex, exploring and teasing, and I cannot reach for him, or once again, I will fall. Now, he has his control again, completely, fully, and I have none, yet I am sinking into this sweet blissful place that he can take me but refuses. He strokes and teases, taking me to the edge, my breathing ragged, my hips arching, and then he pulls back just enough to torment me.

  He doesn’t let me come. He drags me to him, his cheek to my cheek, his lips at my ear. “You come with me inside you.” And then he is kissing me, a deep claiming kiss that shifts from possession to passion, to wild, hungry need. His hunger, his need, and it feeds mine.

  There’s a band of tension wrapping us that seems to snap. Suddenly we’re all over each other; touching, kissing, trying to get closer to each other and I don’t even remember how Cole’s pants
get down, just finally, good Lord finally, the hard length of him is pressing inside me, filling me, stretching me, every nerve in my body on fire. I sink down his shaft until I have all of him, and for just a moment, we don’t move, our mouths lingering close, breath mingling. Cole’s torment is back, waving between us, and I know in this moment, Cole feels like he will lose me. Maybe it’s that he fears I’ll die. Maybe it’s that he fears whatever he tells me will change us, and there is only one way I can answer. I press my hands to his face, and my lips to his lips, silently reminding him that I am here in every way. He covers my hands with his and claims my mouth, and just like that, we are kissing again, the snap of tension back, and already we trying to get closer and closer, and still, it is not enough.

  I’m consumed by this man, in how he feels, how he smells, how he needs and I need too, and it drives me toward that sweet spot I both want, and do not want—not yet. I try to hold back, I try to wait, to stay in this place with Cole, but it doesn’t work. I, in fact, do not have control. My body clenches and then begins to spasm around Cole, every part of me trembling as I tumble into that perfect sweet moment. Cole holds me tighter, shuddering into release, a low, raw masculine sound groaning from his lips. It lasts forever and yet, it is over far too quickly. We collapse into each other, our breaths rasping in the air, melding, seconds ticking by eternally when reality returns and I realize how snugly Cole is still holding me.

  Cole seems to realize this as well. He seems to come back to the present with me, his hold easing. He inches back, and strokes hair from my face. “Let’s put some clothes on or I’m going to just fuck you again and not talk about this.” He doesn’t give me time to reply. He grabs his shirt and drags it over my head. The minute my arms are through the sleeves, he stands us up and sets me on my feet. The shock of him pulling out is more than usual. It’s like a disconnect, a foreboding feeling I can’t even explain.

  I force myself to step away from him, and we both do what we need to do to pull ourselves together.