Like Arrows (Cedar Tree #6)

by Freya Barker

  It's only now, I notice the smell of urine and I cringe. His whole freaking truck will reek. As fast as I can, I strip my bottom half and pull up the sweats. Fuck, they're cold!

  I flip the door open and quickly get out of the truck, my sodden jeans and undies in my hand. I purposely ignore Mal as I walk toward my car, pop the trunk and toss my stuff in. When I turn back, I find myself looking at the broad expanse of Mal's chest. He must've followed closely behind me. His phone still at his ear, he appears to be listening to whoever is talking on the other side, but still manages to glare at me.

  In the distance, I can hear the sound of sirens.

  "Gotta go, the cavalry is here," Mal says in the phone before tucking the phone in his pocket.

  "Don't walk away like that again," he says calmly, yet I can hear the threat in his voice. Whatever. I wasn't gonna stink up the cab of his truck. This experience has been embarrassing enough as it is. Before I can come up with a reply, two police cars, followed by a now familiar sheriff's patrol car come whipping around the corner and drive right up to the door of the office. An ambulance pulls in behind them; I'm afraid it's too late for that.

  I watch the officers go in, but just as I think the sheriff will follow them, he turns and comes straight for us. When he is about six feet away, I feel Mal step beside me, wrap his arm around my shoulders and in some kind of proprietary move, pulls me into the side of his body. I'm frankly too stunned to react, and right now, with my shakes starting back up, the heat from his big body is mighty welcome. The move does not go unnoticed by Sheriff Carmel, who raises both eyebrows in response, but doesn't say a word.

  He nods in greeting. "Mal. Kimeo."

  "Kim, please," I tell him, not sure why I insist on that now but somehow hearing my name from his mouth doesn't sound right. He concedes with a tilt of his head.

  "Kim. Can you tell me what happened?"

  For the next thirty minutes I recount everything that happened, starting with Martin's phone call, until Mal stops me with a question. "Where is the drive?"

  "Oh my God...I totally forgot." I start rummaging through my pockets finding them empty. Then Mal leans in and whispers. "Your jeans?"

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Bad enough to have one person witness my embarrassment. I really don't want to extend that to the sheriff. Mal seems to catch on to my discomfort and suggests that maybe I dropped it in the closet when I was hiding. That's all it takes for Carmel to go looking, giving me time to pop the trunk and check my jean pockets. Of course I stuck it in there at some point. I turn to Mal and mouth "Thank you," just as the sheriff comes walking toward us again.

  "So sorry!" I wave the drive in the air. "I must've missed it the first time. It was in my pocket."

  He seems to take it in stride, tucking the drive in an evidence baggie he pulls from his parka.

  "I'll have someone look at this right away."

  "You think maybe we should let Neil take a look?" Mal suggests. I don't know who Neil is, but apparently the sheriff does.

  "I'll have a copy made and make sure it gets delivered to the GFI office."

  "Thanks. Now can I take Ms. Lowe home? She hasn't seen anyone, just heard voices so unless there's something else?"

  Sheriff Carmel looks back and forth between Mal and myself before nodding his assent. "Just come by tomorrow morning if you can. I'll type up a statement for you to sign."

  I open my mouth to respond but Mal beats me to it. "I'll have her there around eleven."

  My mouth promptly shuts. I'm pretty sure I don't like being talked over or about. Especially when I'm. Standing. Right. There.

  Mal

  I almost see the steam blowing from her little ears.

  Her back is rigid when I try to steer her away from her car and toward my truck. She is pissed. I'm surprised she doesn't fight me. There's also something about the way she continues to avoid calling Drew by his given name. She seems uncomfortable in his presence and I'd love to find out why that is. In the meantime I find myself taking advantage against my better judgement, as I hoist her up in the truck. I don’t seem to be able resisting the urge to get my hands on her body. She's so fucking short, her shoulder tucks right under my armpit when I hold her.

  As I walk around the truck to get to the driver's side I feel the heat from her eyes following me through the windshield. So I'm not surprised when, the moment my ass hits the seat she lets go, full blast.

  "Look, buddy. I don't know what your game is, but I won't be dragged around like a fucking rag doll and propped up for your little pissing contest. Asshole!" She spits, while I calmly slip out of the parking spot.

  "Uh... language."

  "What the fuck? I can use whatever the hell language I like, you self-righteous prick. Not like you couldn't use a good scrubbing with soap your-fucking-self."

  Damned if that foul mouth of hers isn't a refreshing surprise. My cock seems to agree. Who'd have thought the little mouse was really a spitfire. Granted, it's probably the adrenaline and shock of the past hour that has her acting out of sorts, but still it's appealing. Call me an idiot but I like some bite.

  "Mouth like that on a pretty little girl like you is a dangerous thing, babe."

  I hear an indignant huff and turn to look at her. Her lips are pressed together and her nostrils are flaring.

  "Are you kidding? Don't you think you've insulted me enough? Calling me little and pretty, when we both know I repulse you. That's like...a double insult or something."

  I struggle not to chuckle at her ridiculous rant. I don't even know what she's talking about. Repulse me? Hardly.

  "And what's with you and the sheriff anyway? Standing there with your teeth practically bared, pretending to be civil yet oozing aggression. He's another one who thinks he can push me around. Giving me ridiculous lines at the same time he tells me I need looking after. Bunch of cavemen." The last is muttered but what has my skin tingling is what she said before that.

  "What do you mean, he thinks he can push you around? Drew? When was this?" I do my best to control my anger but she seems to pick up on it. "When, Kimeo?"

  Her mouth opens and closes at the use of her full name, but she doesn't admonish me for it. "I...I think it was Sunday? What does it matter? Are you gonna beat him up? I don't know what kind of game you two are playing but I'll be damned if I'm used like some chew toy in a tug of war. I'll be the one left in tatters after you guys are done."

  The knuckles of my hands on the wheel are white, I'm gripping on so tight. I have no idea about the kinds of fucked up ideas that seem to poison her mind, but I'll be damned if I let her, or any other woman for that matter, talk down about herself. "Drew picked up on my interest.” I notice her stiffening in the seat beside me at that declaration, and when I quickly glance over, I can see her eyes big as saucers in surprise. It frankly surprised me too, but in for a penny, in for a pound, so I forge ahead. “I made that very clear, and still he waited for me to be called out of town to make a move on you. That's not fucking cool, babe. Not at all. I'll make sure he doesn't bother you again. I am driving you to the sheriff's office tomorrow anyway. I'll have a word."

  I'll have a word all right. Asswipe.

  The rest of the drive passes in silence. Kim turned away when I called her ‘babe’, and has been staring out the side window with a stubborn look on her face and her arms folded under her ample tits, making them look even more luscious than they already were. Fuck me.

  The moment I park in her drive and turn the engine off she turns to me. "What are you doing?" she challenges. I choose to ignore her and simply get out, walk around and open her door. "Hey!" she complains when I lift her out of the cab and set her on her feet. "You don't have to see me to my door. It's right there." She points and I keep still. She won't be happy when I tell her so I'll stay quiet. Simple as that.

  She unlocks the door and gets ready to shut it on me but I'm faster. I slip inside just in time to see her big horse of a dog up on his hind legs, the front ones on Kim's shoulders. He
has her pinned against a wall and is licking her face furiously, Kim giggling under the onslaught. When he gets wind of me, he drops down and threatens to give me the same greeting. "Sit," I say firmly and immediately the big lug plops down on his haunches and looks at me expectantly, tongue lolling. I give him a good rub down before straightening up to catch Kim watching us from behind the towel she is wiping her face with. "Where's his leash?"

  "I..." Startled, she looks from me to the dog and back again.

  "His leash, babe. Where is it?"

  "Oh fine," she mumbles as she bends down to lift the lid of a trunk sitting to the left of the door, granting me a first rank view of her ass, wrapped tightly in my sweats. Damn.

  "Here." She hands me a short, sturdy strap which I clip on to his collar. "He likes the leash taught but he doesn't really pull, and—"

  "Got it."

  With Boo trotting in front of me I walk into the cold night. The chill in the air needed to cool off my boiling blood. I know in part I'm reacting to Drew honing in, but it isn't just that. I can't really explain what's going on, but my body seems to have no questions. That ass up in the air was like a red flag to my libido. Little mouse, my foot—sexy spitfire is more like it.

  Kim

  The moment Mal walks out the door the reality of what happened earlier tonight sets in with a vengeance. Memories of crouching down in the pitch dark, fists stuffed in my mouth while Martin was being murdered on the other side of the door cause my stomach to roll. So much blood.

  I barely make it to the powder room where I drop to my knees beside the toilet and heave until nothing is left in my stomach. When I sit back I notice it's dark, not only in the bathroom but there is no light at all. I can't remember if I turned the lights on or not. I thought I did. At least in the kitchen, but there is no glow under the door.

  The shivering starts up again in my limbs and I'm struggling not to hyperventilate.

  A noise somewhere in the house startles me and my heart starts hammering in my chest. Afraid to move, I wedge myself further between the toilet and the wall. All I can hear is the sound of my blood rushing in my ears. I squeeze my eyes shut and wrap my arms over my head protectively. When the door opens I make myself even smaller.

  "Fuck," I hear, before I'm yanked up on my feet. I struggle against the big arms surrounding me, but they won't budge.

  "Hush, Kimeo. You're safe."

  The whispered words finally penetrate when a wet nose presses against my hand. "Boo?" The responding licks and distressed doggie whimper pulling me all the way into the here and now. Back into the hallway just outside the bathroom, with Mal holding on tight and Boo pushing his head against my side. I’m home—safe. There are no guys wielding guns here, just Mal and Boo coming back from a walk.

  Fuck, I'm losing it.

  "Let's go clean up," Mal's deep voice rumbles. I finally open my eyes and tilt my head back to find his eyes warm and concerned.

  Right. I'm suddenly very aware of the fact I probably have puke-breath. That thought alone is mortifying enough, but add that to my smelly shirt, stringy hair and whatever my face looks like now, and I want the ground to open up and swallow me. Determined to create as much space as possible, I push hard against his chest. He immediately releases his arms and allows me to step back.

  "I'll be okay now. You can go home." I try to make my voice sound firm, but the little hitch in my breath at the end ruins the effect.

  "Not happening." Mal doesn't seem to have a problem sounding firm. I have no energy to fight him and without another word, I turn and walk to my bedroom, close the door and peel out of all my clothes, tossing them in the hamper on my way into the bathroom. There I turn on the tap until the water runs hot and I numbly step into the shower where I scrub myself raw, the faint light of dawn slipping through my window by the time I’m done.

  After a quick dry off with a clean towel from the shelf, I slip on my nightie and pad into the bedroom where I climb into bed, vaguely hearing the deep rumble of Mal's voice down the hall. He's either talking on the phone or to the dog, but I don't have the energy to wonder too long. Instead I slip into a deep, exhausted sleep.

  Mal

  "I want to put protection on her."

  After only a brief conversation right after I pulled Kim out of the closet at the office, I called Gus back to give him the complete report.

  "Absolutely. Any thoughts?" Gus easily agrees.

  "I can do it," I say, volunteering myself.

  "You? What about Neil? Or calling someone else in?"

  "Neil will be busy with the flash drive Drew is gonna drop of this morning and I don't want to bring a stranger in. She's skittish enough as it is."

  In the background I hear the water turn off, indicating Kim is out of the shower. I keep my eye on the hallway, but I don't hear anything else. I figure she's gone to bed. Good.

  "I'm also going to try and convince her to come to Cedar Tree with me. It'll be safer for her. At least until we know what or who we're dealing with."

  "How do you propose to do that?" Gus sounds amused. He's thinking of the women in our circle, all of who are forces to be reckoned with and not easily swayed to do anything against their will. But he doesn't know Kim—doesn't know she's different, softer, more submissive. Although, she has shown herself to be a tiger a few times.

  "I'll bring her for breakfast to the diner later this morning. Maybe meet us there? We'll see if we can't convince her."

  "Sure. I'll bring Emma, make it seem less like we're strong-arming her."

  That elicits a chuckle from me. "Hell, Emma will do all the convincing for us."

  "I'm thinking my wife can handle the task. Gonna grab a few hours of shuteye. See you around nine?"

  "Yup. Later."

  Just as I hang up, I hear the dog, which's been lying at my feet, whimper. When I scratch his head, he briefly flicks his eyes over to me but quickly turns them back to the hallway, where his mistress is sleeping. Again he lets out a whimper, and I find myself focussing on any sounds coming from the bedroom. Sure enough, a very soft, very low keening filters through.

  Dammit.

  The moment I get up from the couch, the dog is up as well, already moving toward the bedroom.

  "Boo. Stay."

  He stops right outside her door, where I can hear her soft cries more clearly. Gently pushing open the door, I see her shape curled in a ball under the covers. No movement, only the tortured sounds are evidence that she's not sleeping peacefully. It occurs to me she hasn't cried at all yet, other than a few sniffles. And other than the two times I ended up with her in my arms, she's also not shown much of a visible reaction to the scene at her office. I'd seen the physical effects in her shivering and later when I cleaned the bathroom after she'd thrown up, but no real emotional response.

  I slowly approach the bed, not wanting to disturb her, yet at the same time, wanting to make the gut wrenching wailing stop. Carefully toeing off my boots, I lay back on the covers and roll over to fit myself against her back, curving my arm around her waist. Her hair, still damp from the shower, smells of vanilla.

  Slowly the painful sounds subside and her breathing settles into a deep rhythm.

  With the sun steadily rising outside, I find myself drifting off.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kim

  I wake up to Boo's wet nose rubbing my face and am surprised to find my bedroom bright with sunlight. I don't even register the arm tucked around me until I try to slide out of bed.

  What the hell?

  "Go back to sleep," a familiar deep voice sounds from my neck.

  This has the opposite effect and in less than a second, I'm standing next to my bed, looking down on a sleep-rumpled Malachi in my bed. Oh my God.

  "What are you... what happened... nothing happened, right? Oh God." I'm rambling but I can't stop myself. Embarrassment makes way for irritation when I hear Mal's deep chuckle. "It's not funny! What are you doing in my bed?" I emphasize my words by planting my fists on my hi
ps, glaring down at the dark-haired God in my bed. Fuck. His hair is loose and draping over my pillows. My pillows.

  "Relax. You were restless earlier, crying in your sleep, and I just held you until you slept peacefully again. Must've fallen asleep myself," he says, pushing himself off the bed, looking way too gorgeous for my liking. Certainly too gorgeous for my bedroom. I catch his eyes scanning me from top to bottom and back up again, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  I'm suddenly aware of my disheveled state. My face must be blotchy if I had been crying. A hand inadvertently lifts to my hair, which I can feel is a bird's nest this morning. Courtesy of having gone to sleep without blow-drying it straight first. Not to mention the cotton nighty I am just now remembering wearing to bed. I look down and see my treacherous nipples poking through the thin material. I slap my hands over my breasts and my eyes shoot up to meet his dark, smoldering ones. Oh hell. One side of his mouth twitches as if he heard me say that out loud, and he lazily scans my body up and down.

  "I'll take care of the dog and make us some coffee. You'd better get some clothes on," he says in a rough voice, before picking his boots up off the floor and walking out the room.

  I dart into the bathroom where my reflection in the mirror stops me in my tracks. Every curve and dimple is clearly outlined against the backdrop of sunlight, which makes my nightie damn near invisible.

  I think I'll drown myself in the bathtub.

  Instead I take care of business, brush my teeth, try to tame my hair to no avail, and pull some yoga pants and an oversized sweater out of my dresser. It doesn't matter. He's seen me at my worst and seeing how fast he ran out of the room, it's pretty clear he got a disgusting eye-full.

  "How do you take your coffee?" His question hits me the moment I walk into the kitchen where Boo is already munching on breakfast.

  "How many scoops did you give him?" I want to know, as I control Boo's diet very carefully. The intestinal tract of a large canine like him is easily unbalanced, and having cleaned up the results often enough, I shiver at the thought of another explosive episode.