Justice for Aleta

by Deanndra Hall

  Jack sighed. “The Menendez cartel now has a picture of Blake Moss.” Pulling his phone from his pocket, he hit Dax’s contact.

  It was answered with, “Where the fuck were you?”

  “We were in the barn. Before you say anything―”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, we’re okay.”

  “Then listen to me.” Dax’s voice was like molten metal. “The two UCs are posing as brothers. If one of them is found out, the other one will be disposed of too. I’m calling in the FBI now, Texas and Kentucky. Things are about to get crazy, and you’re going to need some help.”

  “Yeah. I’m afraid I will.” As he spoke, Jack retrieved his Glock and slipped it back into his middle-of-back holster.

  “Stay where you can hear the phone.”

  “I will. I’m sorry, Dax. And I gave him the picture.”

  “There really was no alternative. If you’d denied him that, it would’ve put you both in a precarious situation. I knew it might come to this, so I’m not surprised at all. You did the right thing. His cover is intact, but we have a different set of problems. From this point on, there’s no room for error, trooper.” Jack remembered his visitor using that term. The guy had been trying to tell Jack who he was, and Jack had missed the cue altogether. Jesus, I’m slipping, he told himself.

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Good. She gets antsy, ask her if she’d like to be pushing up daisies. I’ve got a contact with the FBI, a good friend named Cruz Livingston. He may be calling you. He’s straight as an arrow. If he asks you a question, tell him the answer.”

  “That’s not a problem. I’ll welcome their help.”

  He heard Dax let out a deep sigh. “Okay. We’re all on the same page. Now we’ve got two objectives, keep your girl safe and extract the teenaged chemist from Moss’s clutches. I pray to God she’s still alive.”

  “Me too. Anything else I need to know?”

  “Nope. I think that covers it. Keep your phone handy. Agent Livingston is a great guy, and he’ll help you all he can, but I’ve got to turn this over to him. Your local agents will probably be paying you a call.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be waiting.”

  “Good deal. Hang in there, Kentucky. Shit’s about to get real.” The call ended and Jack dropped his phone on the table.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “No. But it will be. Come here.” Instead of waiting for her, Jack made his way to the sofa, sat down, and pulled her down onto his lap when she reached him. Her arms wound around his neck and his around her waist. “From this point forward, everything I do, I do to keep you safe. You will listen to me and not question. You will not whine about being confined to the house. I know you’ll understand this, so let me be clear: From this moment on, every time you want to complain, just say a silent prayer of thanksgiving that you’re still alive and another one for your safety. It’s just a matter of time before that outlaw wannabe shows up here. I’m not a praying man, but I’m praying we’ll be ready.”

  Aleta buried her face in his neck and sighed. “Me too.”

  Chapter 7

  At six o’clock that evening, a KSP cruiser rolled up and Matt got out. He walked to the door, rang the bell, and when Jack opened it, he stuck a casserole in his friend’s hands, then turned and walked away. I feel like we’re collecting funeral food, Jack’s tired brain whispered. He waved at Matt as the cruiser rolled away, then reset the alarm system and called Aleta to the table.

  They spent the evening watching a movie, but it was hard to tell what was going on with the sound turned down so low. It had to be kept that way. If there was any sound outside, he had to be able to hear it.

  Bedtime rolled around, and Jack was totally strung out, his nerves a frayed rope that was at its end. They slid under the covers and he reached for Aleta reflexively. With her softness and warmth against him, he could feel himself relaxing a little. He gave her a hot, tongue-filled kiss and got back as well as he gave. In a couple of minutes, his hand found its favorite spot and he teased her hard little nub while he nipped and sucked on a tightened nipple.

  “Jack? Jack. Oh, my god, Jack, I’m, I’m …” Aleta’s hips bucked as the orgasm took her. Seconds later, he was above her and thrusting into her, listening to her groan and beg. “Please, babe, harder? Please?”

  “Whatever you want, sugar. I’ll give you whatever you want.” In a couple of minutes, he ordered, “Elbows and knees. Do it now.”

  “But I―”

  “Do it, babe. Right now.” As soon as she was in position, he slipped in behind her and thrust himself into her all the way up to his balls.

  “Shit, Jack! Oh my god! That’s, that’s, I can’t … I’ve never done this before. Oh, god, it feels so good! Yeah, faster, baby!”

  His hands gripped her ass, leaving white marks where they pressed. She was beautiful, her hair a mess, that found, firm ass right there in front of him, and her juices flowing down the inside of her leg. He couldn’t see her tits from that position, and he didn’t care. That ass was enough. Licking one index finger, he ran it around her dark, puckered entrance, then thrust it in up to his first knuckle. “God! Jack! Fuck! What are you doing? Oh my god, Jack, fuck me, babe. Please?”

  He watched his cock slide in and out of her and smiled. She was perfect in every way, at least perfect for him. “I wish you could see how you look to me, sexy girl. Reach up and stroke yourself until you come, Aleta. Do it.”

  “But I―”

  “Do it, baby. Right now. Don’t tell me no.” He waited until he felt the flutter of her fingers against his balls, and he knew she was working her clit, driving herself upward. “That’s it, babe. Make yourself come, babe. You’re about to, huh?”

  “Yeah. Oh, Jack, yeah. I’m gonna come. I’m … Oh!” She tightened around him and he saw stars. God, she was an amazing fuck! Her ass shook and she trembled under him. That just made him ramp up his speed, and in seconds, he emptied into her, his heat and wetness filling her and running down his balls.

  All movement stopped and Jack stood there behind her on his knees, his length still buried inside her. He could hear her panting, and his breathing was just as labored. Without another thought, he drew back his hand and slapped her ass just to hear the smack. She let out a tiny squeal, and he wanted to do it again, but he didn’t want to scare her. The handprint he left would fade in a few minutes, but his memory of the view would last until the next time he was buried in her and a new memory took its place.

  Even though he didn’t want to, he pulled out of her and dropped to the mattress beside her, then pulled her down with him. She was almost lying on top of him, one leg sprawled across him and her arms around his neck. With one finger, he pressed her chin upward and kissed her lips softly, happy with the warm, sweet way she came after him, locking her lips to his and breathing into him. As soon as the kiss was broken, he wrapped both arms tightly around her and squeezed. “I love you, sugar.”

  “I love you too, babe. Do you ever think about what it will be like when we don’t have to hide out anymore? When our lives are normal?”

  “All the time, sweetie. All the time. We can have an amazing life together. I’m sure of it.”

  She was quiet for a few seconds. Then, out of the blue, she asked, “Do you ever think about kids?”

  He chuckled and repeated what he’d just said. “All the time, sweetie. All the time.” After he’d kissed the part in her hair, he asked, “You miss Jorie, don’t you?” Nodding against his chest, she began to cry. “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I know you miss him.” She’d never talked about him because Jack had never encouraged her to. Maybe she should. “Was he a good baby?”

  “Uh-huh,” she answered, sobbing. In a couple of minutes, he heard her sniffling and waited while she calmed. “He wasn’t at first. He had colic something horrible. I warmed stuff to give him for his tummy, and I tried all kinds of old-fashioned home remedies. But eventually he just outgrew it. By the time he was three months
old, it was over and he was sleeping through the night.”

  “So he slept good?” Jack had heard his cousins talk about how their babies didn’t sleep, and he knew that could be a problem.

  “Oh, yeah. He’d fall asleep at about ten and sleep until five or five thirty. I’d nurse him, and he’d go right back to sleep until about eight. He was such a good baby.” The pride in her voice was unmistakable, and Jack felt a pang of grief pierce his chest. He loved her, and that baby had been a part of her. He would’ve given anything to have a memory of holding him and smiling down into his face instead of the still, cold form lying in a pool of blood on the rocks below that bridge. “He started smiling when he was about five weeks old. The doctor said it wasn’t possible, but I swear he was laughing by the time he was four months. He was the jolliest baby ever, always grinning. I tried to make him stay in his crib some of the day. You know, so he could learn self-soothing and entertaining himself. But he was just so gosh-darn cute that it was impossible to just leave him lying there. I had to hold him. I’d never left him overnight with anybody before he … I never left him overnight. Never.”

  “I know you were a good mom. You loved him and did everything you could for him.” Jack stroked her hair and listened to her sigh.

  “But I let him slip out of my arms. How could I do that, Jack? How?”

  So that was what had been bothering her. She blamed herself. “Honey, that van hit you and there was nothing you could do. It’s not like you just tossed him away. You lost your grip, even though you tried to hang on. It wasn’t your fault, Aleta. No way was it your fault.”

  “If I’d just held on a little tighter …” And she began to cry again.

  “Let’s change that. How about, ‘If that bad guy hadn’t been standing there with that gun, none of that would’ve ever happened.’ Did you ever think of that?”

  “But it was ME!” she cried out, startling him. “He was my baby! I should’ve held him tighter! I should’ve had a better grip! I should’ve been able to hold onto him!” She was wailing and crying, and Jack wondered how long she’d been holding all that in. Probably the whole four months Jorie and Joshua had been dead. “I let my baby die.” The misery in her voice stabbed at his gut when she whispered again, “I let my baby die.”

  Jack had never felt so helpless in his life. The woman in his arms had almost died trying to save her child. Her body had been mangled, bloodied, and bruised. He’d seen her. He knew. And yet she was in agony because she believed she could’ve done something different that would’ve altered the outcome of a horrible situation, a situation she hadn’t created. When we get out of this mess, I’ll find her a counselor, someone to talk to about this. She’s got to stop blaming herself because she’s not to blame. “Jack?”

  “Um-hmmm, babe,” he answered, afraid of what was coming.

  “Would you be afraid for me to be your child’s mother? I mean, am I such a lousy mother that you’d be afraid to have a child with me? That I’d let something happen to it? That it would die because―”

  “Aleta, stop it. Just stop. You can think about this constantly, roll it around in your mind, make up different scenarios, but here’s the truth. You did nothing―nothing―wrong. You had a child you loved, and you took the best care of him that anyone could. And one freak accident took him from you. That was in no way your fault. You’ve got to accept that. Here’s the truth. If you want to blame somebody, blame Joshua.” He felt her open her mouth to say something, but he stopped her. “No. Don’t say it. Joshua was the one who stopped on the shoulder of the parkway in very dangerous road conditions. He’s the one who told you to take Jorie out and move away from the van. I understand his rationale, but the truth is that the car seat was still in the van and it was untouched. I know, because I was there. If Jorie had stayed in that car seat, he would’ve been fine, or at the very least had a couple of bumps and bruises. And before you say a word, I’m not blaming him. He did what he thought was right. He was trying to protect you and his son. But it didn’t work out the way he thought it would, and that’s not his fault either. You have to accept it―for reasons we’ll never understand, it was Jorie’s day to die. It was his time. There was nothing you could do to stop it―nothing.”

  He could hear the hopelessness and helplessness in her voice as she cried against him. “My baby. My baby is dead, and there was nothing I could do. Nothing. It was his day to die. Oh, God, why? Why was it his day to die?”

  Tears rolled down Jack’s face. What a horrible, terrible realization that you’d given birth to a child, loved him and nurtured him, and he was only destined to live for five months. And all he could do for her was whisper, “I don’t know, angel. I really don’t know.”

  Sunlight streaming through the window woke him, and he rubbed his eyes before he opened them. At some point during the night, Aleta had rolled away from him and to the edge of the bed, taking most of the covers with her. That made him smile. He tugged them a little to cover himself and she rolled toward him, then snuggled up against him and sighed.

  The night before had been intense, more intense than anything had been for him in a long time. Crying was something Jack had only done a couple of times in his life, and yet he’d cried with her and for her. Her pain had become his pain, and it was almost unbearable. Her lips feathered a kiss onto his pec and he smiled. There were so many things about her to love, and he thought about her question. Would he consider her as a mother for his child? Of course. She was loving, giving, and nurturing. She’d make a wonderful mother. That was a thing he hadn’t let himself think about since Heather’s death, but on that morning with that beautiful woman in his arms, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to be occupying his mind.

  “I love you,” he heard her mumble against his skin.

  He kissed the top of her head. “I love you too. You hungry?” She nodded. “Okay. I’m going to fix us something to eat. You stay here and sleep.” Before he left the bed, he leaned back in and kissed her cheek just to watch her smile. On the way out of the room, he picked up his cell and carried it with him, wondering why somebody didn’t make boxer briefs with pockets. That would be super handy.

  Jack got out four eggs and decided to scramble them. He’d just reached for a bowl when his phone rang, and the number was a Texas area code. With more than a little hesitation, he reached for it, hit ANSWER, and put it to his ear. “Fletcher.”

  “Kentucky State Trooper John Henry Fletcher? Badge number twelve eight-five?”

  “Yes. May I help you?”

  “Jack. It’s Cruz Livingston, FBI out of the San Antonio office. How are you?”

  “I’m good. Thanks for calling. Dax said you’d be getting in touch.”

  “Dax and I are tight. I helped find his girl when she was … That’s another story. You should let him tell you sometime. Anyway, we have information that the Menendez cartel has knowledge of the hit man who killed their runner, Frankie McIntosh, and snatched their chemist, a teenage girl named Kennedie Stone.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s all true.”

  “No sir. Just Cruz. I understand that’s because a cartel member paid you a visit last night.”

  “Uh, yes.”

  “Good answer. I’ve got people watching Don Hernan, most of his men, and the two who are in Kentucky, the ones who rattled your cage last night. If anyone moves, I’ll know it.”

  “Good.”

  “Our biggest question right now is, where is Moss? Nobody’s seen him for a while now. We’re in the process of putting eyes on Ortiz. I think that’ll give us some idea where Moss is, but we’re worried about that girl. Nobody’s laid eyes on her. I’m afraid he’s killed her, although that would accomplish nothing. That is unless she was blowing smoke up their asses about being able to cook, and if that’s the case, they killed her as soon as they found out she didn’t have the abilities they needed.”

  “I’d thought about that,” Jack said in agreement. “I have to admit, that’s worrying me too.�
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  “So far, Menendez and Ortiz haven’t had any contact with each other, nor have their men. I do know Menendez is pissed. He needed another cook. Ortiz didn’t have a cook. Even without her, Menendez is still in business. Ortiz is out of business until he finds someone. That’s why he snatched the girl.”

  Jack had a question that had been burning in his brain. “What I want to know is, how did Ortiz find out about the girl? The car? The runner?”

  “Ah, that’s a good question, and the only possible answer is a rat in Menendez’s organization that’s feeding info to Ortiz. If Don Hernan ever finds the guy, that poor fella is dead. They won’t kill him―they’ll torture him for days and then execute him in the most painful way they can come up with.”

  “And what’s that?”

  A snort came from the other end of the phone. “Trust me, you do not want to know.”

  Jack could only imagine. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Also, I had to do something that’s going to make you very unhappy.”

  That made Jack sit up straight. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. KDCI is now involved in this investigation.”

  Jack could feel the hair on the back of his neck bristling. “Why?”

  “Because we need all the manpower we can get. And because they had the missing persons report on the Stone girl passed on to them. We could no longer leave them out of the loop.”

  “And who made that decision?”

  “We did. And the Kentucky Department of Criminal Investigations field office. And,” Cruz said, hesitation in his voice, “the Kentucky State Police commissioner, Colonel Wallace.”

  Well, that was that. There was nothing Jack could do. His own commander in chief had ordered the sharing of information, and he no longer had a say. There was no point in arguing, and no way around it. “So I’m effectively out of the investigation.”