“Blade?”
It was the familiar voice of Manny. He was relieved help had arrived. Manny would get him to the hotel, and once he was dry, the two of them could find Sinclair and kill him. He would have great pleasure cutting him apart, one limb at a time.
“M-m-manny! O-o-o-ver here!” he called weakly.
It was quieter down river. Water rushed, but closer to the bank it was frozen. He heard the crunch of Manny’s footsteps as he followed the direction of his voice. When Manny finally reached the tree he shined the light on Blade.
“I just got back from Jessup. I’m glad I found you, amigo,” he said.
“M-m-m-e too,” Blade stuttered. “Help me g-g-et out of here.” He reached his hand up for assistance.
Manny looked down at the pitiful sight.
“I can’t do that,” he explained, shaking his head.
Blade fell on his frozen knees as he attempted to stand, and looked up at him. “What-t? W-w-why?” he asked, the words barely audible as the cold wracked him in spasms.
Manny kicked him to the ground and placed a heavy foot on his chest. He had a gun pointed at Blade’s head.
“Because you, my friend,” he said with contempt, “have become a liability…”
He hadn’t come home all night.
She wasn’t afraid because she knew Cody would alert her if anyone came near the house. Justice was becoming equally perceptive. That, combined with Marcus sitting not so hidden in the driveway, assured her she was safe. They’d never fought like this, and in retrospect she knew she’d been foolish to jeopardize her safety by confronting her attacker. She just hoped Carter hadn’t been equally as foolish, and the uncertainty made her tense… because he hadn’t come home.
All night, sleep had been elusive. She sat on the floor by the foot of the bed with the puppy on her lap and Cody by her side. They’d been lulled into sleep by the fire. She drifted off for a few minutes at a time, but it was morning and the fire died out. She put her head down on her knees. Her tears multiplied as they became an accomplice to her tortured thoughts. What if something happened to him? What if he never came back? What if he couldn’t get back? The pending panic attack was a keg of dynamite waiting for a match.
As the thoughts multiplied and stacked in her mind like dry tinder, they were interrupted by both dogs barking. Someone was at the front door. Hoping it was Carter and not one of his partners, she opened the bedroom door.
Carter stayed put once he saw her. Her tear stained face pulled at him. He wanted to comfort her, but he was still angry. He stared, saying nothing.
“You were right,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking.”
She moved closer. His posture was stiff.
“Would it help to say I’m sorry?” She held onto his jacket with both hands and buried her face in his chest.
As if on cue, both dogs started barking, running around them in circles.
“I think they’re trying to plead your case,” he said helplessly.
She leaned back, looking into the face of the man who’d become her anchor.
“You’re not mad?”
He pushed her hair back away from her shoulder, then closed his arms securely around her.
“I’m furious.”
She cast her eyes down, not wanting him to see her vulnerability, but he lifted her chin.
“You risked your safety, Aim. If you don’t care about it, I do.”
“But…” she began.
“No buts… not unless I’m beating yours if you’re ever this careless again.”
She nervously bit at her lip and nodded her agreement.
“…but I saw him and I didn’t know what to do,” she started.
He moved to the sofa, pulling her down on his lap.
Resting her head on his shoulder, she began to cry.
“Damn it! I hate it when I cry,” she confessed. He held her tighter.
“I didn’t know what to do when I saw him. I started to feel like an attack was coming on, but then it just escalated until I was so angry I wanted to hurt him.” She lifted her head as something occurred to her.
“Can you have him arrested? I can identify him. I’m not afraid.”
“I don’t know. I’m going to check into the evidence tomorrow. I have to see if they have DNA.”
Her shoulders slumped as discouragement set in.
“Hey,” his arms tightened around her reassuringly. “I’ll do everything I can to make this right. I promise.”
She looked deep into his eyes. She was at a loss for the right words.
“Nobody’s gonna hurt you again, Aim. I can’t lose you,” he whispered.
If it were possible for love to build a wall, he would do it to keep her safe. He wouldn’t lose her—couldn’t lose her—and he would kill to keep her safe. Just the thought made him desperate for her.
She kissed him tenderly. It was a tenderness birthed from fear, longing, and desperation. Filling a void she never knew existed, he owned her, but no less than she owned him. Time only deepened her need. She craved his touch. The months of feeling him against her as she slept gave her intimate knowledge of how she felt in his arms, but she wanted more.
Closing her eyes, she savored the spark his kiss ignited and the promise it held. She broke away long enough to see the look in his eyes, and she saw passion and desire. It was what she wanted, what she’d waited for, and she knew he felt it too as evidenced by the growing firmness beneath her.
He pulled her close against him as he possessively took her mouth. This time there was nothing chaste in his kiss, no hint of reservation. He couldn’t help himself. He’d only had a taste of her, but he wanted more. As his tongue claimed ownership, his hand purposely cupped her breast. Her permission came in the form of a moan, but he wasn’t asking permission. Her fate had been sealed when he first took her. This was but a confirmation.
He severed their connection only long enough to push her sweatshirt over her head, exposing the fullness of her breasts. He took one in his mouth like an inconsolable child, hardening the tip in his thirst for the taste of her. She pulled on his shirt, but he’d have none of it. Before she could protest he took control, pinning her wrists behind her and giving him better access. The posture forced her chest toward him. He took his time licking and teasing until she was writhing in his lap. Her body pleaded with him in silent request, begging him to take her. He would have complied right there on the couch, but he’d been patient for too many months, waiting while she healed.
He refused to be rushed.
He gathered her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. As he laid her down he took a moment to appreciate how beautiful she looked when she was soaked with desire. He wanted to savor this and every moment with her as he touched her. His touch was firm but he chose to move slowly. He was setting a different pace than she wanted, but he wanted to commit every inch of her to memory.
His hands were rough, his fingertips slightly calloused, and the gentle scraping on her delicate skin only deepened her passion. He’d had much time to entertain ways of taking her, pleasuring her, and as he slowly slid her pants down over her hips, those images no longer haunted him. He paused as he claimed every inch of her with kisses in the most sensitive places. She trembled, her body responding and reacting, quivering as he kissed the soft areas on the underside of her breasts and the inside of her thigh. He lingered as he explored, licking and teasing her folds. It served as a promise of what was to come.
She once again reached for his shirt, attempting to remove it and distracting him from his intentions.
“Put your hands above your head,” he demanded. She did as he said. His voice was forceful and dense with lust, overriding her own ambitions.
“Don’t move them until I say so.”
His tone reverberated the authority he took, her obedience a requirement for pleasure.
She surrendered.
He removed what was left of her clothing, taking off her panties, and gliding sock
s over her ankles. He placed light, ticklish kisses on her feet to tease her. When she responded by reaching down to stop him, she saw the warning in his stare. Obediently she pulled back, placing her hands as he’d instructed. He continued and lifted each slender ankle, placing her legs over his shoulders. As he pulled her toward him, goose bumps rose across her delicate belly. He blew on them lightly to further heighten their intensity.
She whimpered, the delicious agony increasing a thirst for release.
He held her immobile by the luscious curves of her backside, effectively tasting her until she trembled violently. Her resolve melted with each lick… each nip… each taste.
Though she lacked experience, he understood the language her body spoke and interpreted her movements and sounds. His body responded in kind and she had no choice but to await his intentions. When he finally took her over the edge, he delighted in her cries.
He held her as she slowly floated down into consciousness. Taking her hand, he closed her fingers around his hardness. He wanted her to feel the power she held. As her fingers gripped him, his eyes became pools of pleasure.
“We’re taking this slow,” he said, his syrupy thick voice sending pulses of pleasure reverberating from her hand and through to her soul.
“I’m fine, really. I want this,” she confessed.
“I know, but remember what I said? We’re making new memories… and I want them to burn all the bad ones away.” He reached behind her back, stroking muscles which held an unconscious tension. Her eyes drooped with pleasure as she lost herself in his touch.
He began slowly, leaving no part of her body untouched by his hand. He was silently marking her, claiming her, and she reveled in his ownership. As he alternated the intensity of his touch, he propelled her upward and once again had her moaning with pleasure. He held his passion in check, consumed with a desire to insure her comfort.
Relentlessly, he teased and she responded with pleasure. Her touch seared his fate as he became her possession. He wasn’t looking for love when she found him, but now he was forever changed.
He placed her legs around his hips and entered her slowly. Almost reverently he moved in sync with her desire. They coexisted within a world of each other, each of them sensitive only to ministrations of pleasure. Nothing else mattered.
Relentlessly, they sought release. Carter consumed her with love and lust. His tenderness increased her pleasure. Finally, they reached a fevered pitch. It was sweeter… better… more powerful than the first time they were together. They simultaneously splintered into mirrored fragments of desire, reflecting only their love for each other and releasing their passion.
Afterward, neither wanted to separate. Carter rolled to his side while he held her close. She closed her eyes, content in the solitude. He carefully pulled the blanket over them. He watched her beautiful face, peaceful and void of any fear. The flutter of her eyelashes and the rise and fall of her breast captivated him as she quietly breathed against his chest. Contented, he realized they were a complete balance.
Aimee gave her love unconditionally…
…and Carter received unconditional love.
It was perfect… they were perfect.
Sore, but well rested, she found Carter in the living room watching TV. She helped herself to some coffee and joined him on the sofa. He was engrossed in whatever show was on so she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He gave her a weak smile and turned back to watch the program.
The noon news had a live report from The Clifton T. Perkins Hospital Center in Jessup, Maryland. Paparazzi and news reporters were chronicling the release of Marisol Franzi, who was now being reported as Marisol Vallega. It was leaked to the press she was wrongfully charged with the assault of Aria Cole Sinclair. The error resulted in her stay at the Perkins facility and the press were awaiting her comments.
As Aimee watched with him, Marisol and a tall, handsome Latino man exited the building and were approaching the reporters. It looked like a sea of microphones and cameras before her. The man held her hand and she was a step behind him.
“Mr. Vallega, Mr. Vallega,” they all called at once. He pointed to a reporter and she stood before him.
“Mr. Vallega, could you please tell us how you feel about your wife’s early release?”
Standing tall, the man never let go of Marisol’s hand while he reached to unbutton his suit jacket.
“Early release? It was a misunderstanding resulting in her arrest. Her record will be expunged.”
The reporters again clamored for their attention. Manny pointed to a different reporter.
“Sir, this question is for Ms. Franzi. How do you respond to reports that say you’re crazy?”
The question earned a disapproving look from Manny and a surprised look from Marisol. To her credit, she maintained her composure.
“I take exception to the question, Sir, as the term ‘crazy’ is insensitive to many people. People who suffer with mental or emotional illness are not ‘crazy’.” She was firm in her answer, but smiled at the reporter. Manny gave her a reassuring look before she continued.
“Although a misunderstanding is what resulted in my stay at the hospital, I am grateful to the doctors and counselors who discovered that an illness caused the fluctuations in my behavior.” She turned to Manny who gave her a comforting smile, then she turned back to the reporter.
“I am bipolar, or rather, I have bipolar affective disorder. I am under a doctor’s care and have benefited from the correct medication. If I caused harm it was not intentional, and certainly not destructive. I’m grateful it was diagnosed and is treatable.”
Marisol and Manny made their way through the crowd intending not to answer any other questions, but the reporters still crowded them, relentless in their inquisition. They ignored most of the questions until one was voiced more loudly than the others.
“Ms. Franzi! It’s rumored Mr. Vallega has criminal connections and he used them to have you released. How do you respond?”
Manny and Marisol stopped walking.
“Who asked that question?” Manny asked as he scanned the crowd.
A reporter came forward. He was a little man, partially bald with a crooked tie. Manny motioned for him to come closer. As the man made his way through the sea of people, Marisol and Manny exchanged a knowing glance.
“Ladies first,” Manny deferred.
“Thank you,” she smiled, then turned to the reporter.
“First, I prefer to be called Mrs. Vallega. My husband and I have been married for some time. Like most people, it took a tragic event for us to realize what we mean to each other, and we have worked out our differences.” Again she exchanged a smile with Manny.
“My husband is a business man, and because he is successful, people start unfounded rumors.”
Manny came to her side and he addressed the man.
“I would like to respond to your accusation,” he said. “My wife was released by law officials who realized a mistake was made and set about to correct it. However, if there was ever a reason to entertain illegal methods to secure the release of an innocent woman, I’m certain I’m not the only husband who would use any method to help his wife.” He pulled Marisol closer to him, kissing her for the benefits of the cameras.
“No more questions,” he said addressing them.
Taking a few more steps, they entered the limousine and drove away from the crowd.
“That’s bullshit!” Carter yelled.
Aimee agreed.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
He didn’t know what to say. The system wasn’t perfect, but it was still the only system. It was his choice. He could fight against it or he could accept it—or he could wait until she slipped up again, which was the more likely outcome.
Before he had a chance to think, she interrupted.
“Carter! Look!”
On the television screen was a picture of the man who attacked her. Under a picture of Swallow Falls was a ca
ption which read “Unidentified Man Found Dead of Gunshot Wound to the Head.” They showed a security photo of the same man making a purchase in a convenience store. They asked for anyone to come forward who might have information about him.
She looked at Carter. Where was he all night? Could he possibly have killed someone? Did he go after that man when he stormed out?
It was as if he read her thoughts and she searched his face for the answer. All she saw was the face of the man who loved her, the man who cared for her, and the man who would defend her to the death, and she found it didn’t matter to her. If he was the man responsible it would have to be between him and God—and if he wasn’t then someone did her a favor. The only thing that mattered was the future and she knew hers was with him.
She kissed him sweetly and again presented her question.
“Carter… what are you going to do?”
Her voice held no threat, no accusation, and as she waited for an answer he knew she would support him no matter what came their way.
He put his arm around her shoulder and she laid her head on his. For the past few years he’d been driven, but the judicial system made their judgment. Marisol’s fate had been decided and she was free to live her life… and he deserved no less. His fate had been determined when they gave back her freedom and he realized he deserved his freedom as well.
He placed a light kiss on her temple, content with his decision. He had everything he’d ever wanted. He had Aimee.
It was time to stop chasing monsters and ghosts.
As he held her in his arms, he was confident in his answer.
Here/Now Page 27
