Cuffing Her

by Emily Bishop

  Then again, maybe I’m trying to focus on other people’s love lives so that I can avoid dealing with my own. I turn on the movie, and the opening sequence starts. Katie and I share a love of all things Stephen King, and I’m glad I have someone I can watch and discuss this stuff with.

  “The book is so much better,” Katie says. She takes a sip of her wine as we watch the screen while we talk.

  “It is. Isn’t that always the case, though?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I saw It a while ago at the town theater, and I thought it was awesome.”

  “You saw It without me?” I demand, faux insulted.

  She shrugs. “My mom was in town and wanted to catch the film. Why, did you see it?”

  My responding smile is guilty. “Yeah, I caught it with my mom, too, when I went home for a little bit.”

  “Ah ha! The accuser is equally as guilty!”

  Her words ring in my ears. I’m a little sensitive to being accused of guilt at the moment, but she’s just trying to be funny. I hold my smile in place and take another sip of wine. It’s cool and crisp with a fruity aftertaste, and my body relaxes into the couch as the alcohol takes effect.

  “Yes, well. We should still go see it together. I’m cool with watching the movie over reading that weird kid porn scene in the book.”

  Katie nods. “That was a weird scene.”

  “Not my favorite.”

  “Mine either.”

  We sip our wine, and I pass the popcorn bowl over to Katie. Together, we munch on the salty snack and imbibe delicious booze as we relax and watch one of our favorite movies. I find myself finally forgetting the stress of the day, and I snuggle a little deeper into my sofa.

  “Do you think the director was as abusive as they say he was?” Katie asks.

  I’m about to reply when the front window of my apartment explodes. Glass flies everywhere, and I duck into my couch. Something thuds against my seat, and then the world goes quiet again. I listen for any other noise, then I look up to see Katie hiding under the blanket. In the back of my mind, I register that that’s not a terribly safe hiding space, but I release the thought as soon as it arrives.

  Someone has attacked my home.

  “Are you all right?” I ask. My voice shakes, and I clear my throat.

  Katie pops her head out from under the blanket and nods. “Yeah, but what the hell was that?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, and I stand up, careful to avoid broken glass on the floor. I walk around the other side of the sofa until I’m behind it. What the hell was that?

  In the background, Jack Nicholson is talking about how all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. I look around the floor, and that’s when I spot it.

  A red brick.

  Someone has thrown a brick though my window. Christ, no matter how much I want to avoid this situation, it’s not going away. In fact, it’s much worse.

  I’m officially being threatened in my own home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ben

  I sip my coffee as I drive around town.

  The world is quiet and dark at this time of night. It’s one of my favorite rounds to make, especially when the fog is off the sea and the world is cast in an ethereal smoke. My imagination goes wild during times like that, but unlike in the military, it’s never a bad thing.

  This town knows nothing compared to the outside world.

  It may be dealing with theft at the moment, but this is small beans compared to the world beyond this safe little hamlet. I still can’t excuse it. The people here knew no crime, no violation, until that boat was stolen. Now they do.

  And I’m the one to blame.

  My cell rings, and I’m glad for the distraction. Maybe driving around on foggy nights isn’t so good for my psyche after all. I press the button to answer.

  “This is Ben. What’s up?”

  “Ben. We have a call for vandalism. Apparently, there’s been a break-in down by the coast.”

  Shit. Does this garbage have to happen as I take the helm here? And when I’m off-duty. A night time drive was supposed to give me time to think.

  James’s voice is terse, but given the subject matter, that’s understandable. After our fight over Skippy, he cooled off and mumbled some kind of apology. It’s been a tenuous working situation ever since, but at least he’s showing up and doing the job.

  If he wants to replace me someday, he has to at least do that much.

  “What the address? I’ll go check it out.”

  As he reads the address to me, I type it into my navigator to see the location. I tap the screen and an arrow appears, ready to guide me.

  “Got it. I’ll let you know if I need backup.”

  “You do that,” he says, then hangs up.

  I zoom out to get a general idea of where this place is. When I look at the expanded map, my blood turns cold.

  It’s Naomi’s house.

  I flash my lights on and slam down my foot on the gas pedal. With no one on the streets, it’s easy enough to fly to the oceanfront.

  Is Naomi OK? Is she safe?

  An image of her mangled dead body flashes across my mind, and I brush it aside. This isn’t Somalia. People aren’t automatically dead when you hear about a break-in here.

  I have to remember that, or I’m going to explode before I even get there.

  I pull my car into the restaurant parking lot. I turn off the ignition and step out into the dark night. Streetlights are spread out wide along the coast, providing tiny islands of illumination in the inky black darkness, the ocean only present by the sound of lapping waves.

  I run past the restaurant doors until I reach Naomi’s, and I slam my fist against the portal.

  “Sheriff, open up,” I shout.

  If there is someone still in there, I can do my best to intimidate. This works much like it does in the wild, where the largest, most powerful animal wins out, or can be intimidated by a louder animal… perhaps one carrying a gun.

  I pat my holster. My weapon is tucked away, but I can sling it out in a second if need be. I’m about to break down the door when it swings open. Naomi stands there, clad in a tank top and sweat pants with a spooked expression. Her arms are crossed around her stomach, like she’s trying to hold herself together from her middle.

  “Where is he?” I ask.

  I step inside, my eyes surveying the apartment. I glance over every nook and cranny in the hallway, my hand dangling over my weapon as I stalk further inward. When I reach the living room, I notice the broken glass on the floor and Katie sitting in a ball with her feet up on the couch. Her arms are wrapped around her knees, and she’s staring at me with wide, frightened blue eyes.

  “Ben. Fancy meeting you here.”

  Is she trying to be funny right now? “What happened here? Is there an immediate threat?”

  “You think if there was a threat we’d be opening the door?” Naomi asks. She’s entered the room, and there’s a mix of anger in her eyes with the fear now. All it does is ramp up my own.

  “I would hope you’d answer the door for the person responsible for saving your life.”

  “I would, too. Could you tell me where that person is?”

  Smartass. I’m in no mood for this. I take a breath to steady my anger, and when I focus back on Naomi, I’m seeing a little less red. “Why don’t we start at the beginning? What happened?”

  Naomi points to the window, and my gaze follows. Shards of glass dangle from the frames. What isn’t dangling is still on the floor, and behind the couch, untouched, lies a worn red brick.

  When I look back to Naomi, I’ve got questions. “Do you have any idea who did this?”

  “According to you, I probably did it to myself.”

  She’s being impossible. It’s not helping my blood pressure. She could have been hurt. I’m clearly losing control over what’s happening in this town.

  No. I am not going to let that happen.

  Still, Naomi is being a
pill, and I need information. She’ll have to be interviewed second. I turn to Katie and sit on the couch as I face her head on.

  “Katie, can you give me a detailed report of what happened, including the timeframe?”

  “Uh, sure,” Katie says. She looks from me to Naomi and back, and I know that Naomi has shared something about our little dalliance. Great. A woman who kisses and tells. Just what I need.

  “We were sitting here watching a movie when the brick came through the window. That’s when we called you.”

  “Any other identifying information? Did you look out the window to see who could have done it?” I whip out a notepad and pen from my top pocket, scribble down the details.

  Katie shakes her head, and a wave of frustration washes over me.

  “No, I don’t think that would have been safe, do you? Besides, I think we have an idea, don’t we? It’s Skippy coming after me again, isn’t it?”

  I don’t want to scare her. The truth is it could be any number of perpetrators… all of whom her employer seems to be familiar with.

  “We don’t know that for certain, and besides, they came after Naomi, not you. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, but I will be looking into it. There is nothing to fear.”

  She looks at me with doubt in her eyes, and it destroys me. This woman has no faith in my ability to protect her, and if I were to look back at Naomi, I imagine I’d see the same expression there.

  Then again, they did call. So that’s something.

  “Do you have any other information at all?” I ask one more time.

  Katie shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t. I want to go home and get some sleep. Am I allowed to go?”

  Her question is loaded. Clearly, Naomi has shared more than bedroom details with this woman. She thinks I’m the kind of cop who will abuse my power, who has to grant permission. Awesome.

  I nod. “Yes. Is it far?”

  She shakes her head. “Just a few houses that way,” she says, nodding to the left.

  “Would we be able to see that you got home OK from here?”

  She hesitates, thinking. “Probably, I guess. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’d like it if you looked out for Naomi though.”

  There are many things I could say to this. So. Fucking. Many. “I will. I’d also like confirmation that you are home and locked in safe until I can get more information. Can you get there and text us once you’re back?”

  “Sure, absolutely.” She stands and walks around the broken glass toward the front door. Before she leaves, she hugs Naomi tight and whispers something in her ear. Naomi nods and rests her gaze on the door as her friend closes it behind her. She turns back to face me.

  “You should walk her home. It’s safer.”

  She’s got a point. I don’t want to leave Naomi alone, and I don’t want Katie to be unsafe. I nod and walk to the door. I open it and watch as Katie walks down the street. She turns a few cottages down and her door opens then closes. I turn back to Naomi.

  “There. All safe. Anyway, it appears that the threat lies here,” I say.

  “You don’t know that. You don’t know anything.” Her voice rises an octave.

  She’s close to losing it. Her arms wrap back around her middle, and I walk toward her slowly, each step measured. I reach her and take one more step forward, so that we’re standing face to face, close enough to feel one another’s breath.

  “Then why don’t you tell me, Naomi? Tell me what it is that I don’t know?”

  When her eyes meet mine, sparks fly around us. She’s ready to do battle, and I couldn’t ask for a worthier adversary.

  “Why should I tell you anything? I tell you the truth, and you throw it out the window because it doesn’t fit your own narrative.”

  “You called me here because you needed help. So here I am, ready to help. I can’t help you if you don’t confide in me.”

  “I can’t confide in you when you don’t believe me anyway!”

  “Who threw that brick through your window?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Our voices are getting louder. I realize this, but I don’t care. I have been living in a world of frustration and anger for long enough, and I want some answers.

  “That’s bullshit. You have to have some idea.”

  “Even if I did, how can I tell you? How can I trust you?”

  “Because I’m here now, and I’m on your side. How can you not see that?”

  “How can you not see that I am in a complete mess of a situation that you’ve only made worse? You storm in here with accusation all over your face, then you expect me to give you answers that I don’t have. What do you want from me, Ben?”

  She’s so angry, and yet so vulnerable. Her dark eyes flash in the subtle light of her apartment, and my body reacts to her in a way it shouldn’t.

  I need her.

  I take another step closer until my face hovers above hers. Every muscle in my body is tense. In the span of ten minutes, I’ve been scared, angry, and now my body is raging with pure lust. Her eyelashes flutter as she stares up at me, but she doesn’t back away.

  “What do I need from you?” I whisper.

  She shivers at my closeness, and I place a hand along her lower back. When she remains in place, it’s because she wants me too, and there’s something comforting in that knowledge. She desires me, perhaps against her own better judgement.

  We’re two peas in a pod.

  I lower my face until our lips are an inch apart, and then I whisper, “I need you to trust me.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Naomi

  The man asks a lot, considering he’s completely unwilling to give his trust to me.

  At least that’s what my rational mind says. His lips lower to mine, and there’s a hunger in him that instantly ignites my own traitorous body. Even as I know I shouldn’t, I wrap my hand around his neck and tug him closer, drinking him in as my tongue collides with his in a passionate, frantic exchange.

  He wraps both of his arms around me fully, crushing me to his body, and my mind screams at me for doing this. This is a man who suspects me for a crime I have told him time and time again that I didn’t commit. He is obnoxious and bullheaded and dreamy and… remember that time he brought you flowers?

  Damn it to hell.

  No matter what he’s done, I can’t help it that I’ve fallen for him, hard. He kisses me, his lips leaving mine to explore my jaw, my neck. I tilt my head up on instinct, and as his lips sink lower toward my collarbone. All coherent thoughts dissolve, and I give into the pleasure. I close my eyes and allow myself to feel.

  I simply can’t help myself.

  His hand rests on my hip as he pulls the strap of my tank top to the side to expose my shoulder. The shirt dangles along my arm, and I melt, allowing him to have his way with me, with my body. The things he makes me feel are indescribable, and I’m addicted to the sensation.

  Clearly, I have a problem. Oh well.

  His lips are hot and moist and leave a cool trail along my collar bone. Before he can reach the top of my breast, he stops, and I open my eyes, curious. He walks over to the door and bolts it shut. Then he casts a wary glance at the window, still shattered and gaping. When he looks back at me, his eyes are intense.

  “Does your bedroom door have a lock?” he asks.

  I glance back at the window, and much to my dismay, reality sinks back in. When I look back at him, I nod. “Yes.”

  Apparently, that’s all he needs to hear, because with the front door locked, he scoops me up into his arms and carries me down the hall to my bedroom. He sets me down, turns and locks the door, and then faces me again. His gaze combs my body, and I can almost feel his touch everywhere he looks. He’s memorizing me, soaking me in. My shirt still hangs from my shoulder, and he reaches down and pulls it up and over my head.

  I stand before him in a sports bra and sweat pants. When he sees the sports bra, his eyebrows scrunch, as though he’s been faced with an unnece
ssary barrier. He says nothing as his fingertips dig between the bra and my skin, and he pulls that over my head next.

  My breasts bounce free, settling back down as he tosses the bra to the floor. He continues on in silence, watching me, exploring my body with his eyes only. It’s driving me wild. I want him to touch me. I want him to fuck me like he did in my office.

  He kneels down next and grips the top of my pants, and his fingers locate my panty line. Inch by inch he drags them both down, exposing my pussy to the cool air of my bedroom. It’s hot and pulsing down there, and I ache for his touch. I step out of my pants, fully nude before him. He stays on his knees and looks up at me.

  “Don’t move,” he says.

  He must think he’s funny when he says that. He spreads my legs apart and examines my pussy once more. He takes an index finger and runs it along the length of my center. I jump at the sensation, and his other hand grasps my ass as he holds me still.

  “I said don’t move.”

  “That’s impossible, and you know it.”

  “Shh,” he says then licks my clit.

  OK, I’ll be quiet.

  I watch his tongue twirl and circle around my bean, the slick little button swirling with every flick of his masterful tongue. He takes his middle finger and slides it up into me, and as he licks, he moves his finger in and out as slowly as when he removed my clothing.

  My legs shake, and I can’t help but let out a moan. The friction of his finger and tongue on my pussy work in perfect harmony.

  He sits back and blows on my pussy, the cold air stimulating my sensitive skin, and I shiver. He stands then and faces me, his eyes on mine, as he removes his shirt, his broad shoulders and muscular torso delectable. I want to run my tongue along every inch of him.

  He unzips his pants, slides them down, and steps out of them. This is the first time he’s fully naked before me.

  Is this some kind of offering? Perhaps he’s showing me that he’s willing to trust me in this, to be vulnerable?

  I don’t have time to think on it. My gaze combs over his massive erection, and my own juices flow even more. He steps forward and captures my lips again as he wraps himself around me and guides me toward the bed. He gives me a gentle push, and I land on my bare ass. When I look up at him, he kneels back down and spreads my legs once more.