With every stroke, Marcus’s cock pressed against Angie’s clit and she knew she would be having another orgasm – soon. She embraced it, welcomed it, ready for the pleasure that she’d been missing for so long to reach her.
His lips were upon her own again and they kissed, slowing down their rhythm, turning it into a lovemaking session that rivaled any they’d ever had before. She could feel the water on them – cooling down, slowly, but she ignored it, instead focusing on the heat and the warmth that Marcus was bringing her. She moaned, biting his ear, and she knew that she was going to cum.
It happened quicker than the first time. She let out a scream of pleasure as it built, and then Marcus was moaning and pushing deeper into her, deeper than he had beforehand, and she knew that he, too, was going to cum.
And she came.
She felt herself tightening around Marcus, felt him deep inside of her, and then he was cumming, pushing into her and spraying his seed deep into her. She could feel him jumping, jerking, his body pressing himself as deep into her as she could manage.
They came together, lips finding each other’s, and they kissed until they were both spent. Marcus held Angie against the shower wall for a few minutes. She could feel him shrinking inside of her and then he pulled out, his seed trailing and dripping in the shower.
He lowered her slowly to her feet, the cold water blasting over her body but cooling her down from the heat and the pleasure that was still entirely flooding her body. They rinsed off one final time, catching their breaths, and Angie finally turned the shower off.
Marcus grabbed two clean towels, handing one to Angie. They toweled off in silence, though Marcus kept stealing glances at her, like he’d never seen her naked before. She blushed and smiled at him, watching his mischievous golden eyes.
“I missed you, Marcus,” Angie finally said. “That was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.”
“I missed you, too,” he told her. His grin spread across his face. “But if you think that’s it for tonight, you’re sadly mistaken. That was only round one.”
Angie screamed in mock alarm as Marcus grabbed her, slung her naked body over his shoulder, and ran to the bedroom.
Chapter 6
Marcus woke up with the dawn. He wasn’t sure how or why he did it; being inside of prison, he’d never woken up early. After all, he couldn’t see the sun and there were no clocks for him to look at. But he was awake.
Next to him, Angie slept softly. He looked over at her, careful not to move too much to awaken her. Her chest rose and fell softly. Her hair was halfway over her face, but the part of it he could see was beautiful. She was tangled up in the blankets.
They were still naked from the night before. He looked out the window. He thought he could detect the slightest hint of sunlight gracing the horizon.
He closed his eyes and rubbed them. He’d slept well, and he’d slept long, but he still felt tired. He hadn’t expected to instantly recover from his months in prison, yet he’d hoped he’d fall back into the swing of things.
Marcus shook his head sadly to clear his thoughts.
It was never going to be that easy. I was a fool for thinking so.
Carefully, so as not to wake Angie, Marcus slid out of bed. She mumbled in her sleep and turned. For a split second, her eyes flittered open and Marcus froze like a deer in headlights, but then she closed her eyes and mumbled something. One of her hands found a pillow and pulled it close to her. Marcus smiled and tiptoed to the door.
He found some clothes in the laundry room. He pulled on an old pair of jeans, a tight t-shirt, and then some socks. One of his belts – that he had used to carry his sidearm – was hanging from the door. He grabbed it and looped it on. It felt different, somehow, almost as if it didn’t belong on him without the familiar weight of a weapon at his hip.
He started a pot of coffee, though he couldn’t exactly say why. He’d never been a big coffee drinker, even while he was working, but he did it just the same.
Things change. People change.
But can I?
He’d just poured his first cup of coffee and was heading for the door when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him. He jumped slightly and turned to find Angie standing in the hallway, arms crossed and leaning on the frame, one of his large shirts over her body and a pair of long socks bunched up at her ankles.
“Going somewhere?” she asked, a raised eyebrow telling him that she already knew the answer.
“Just out on the porch to enjoy the sunrise,” he said with his best smile.
“Mmmhmm,” she said and Marcus knew she’d seen right through his flimsy excuse.
“I was going to go down to the crime scene…”
“Marcus…”
“I know, but if it has something to do with me, I need to go.”
She sighed and said, “Let me go put on some clothes and I’ll come with you.”
“You –” he began, but she was already turning down the hallway and ignoring him as she made her way back to their room. Don’t need to worry about that, he had meant to say, but the words died on his lips. He took a sip of coffee and then tossed the rest of it down the drain; he didn’t feel much in the mood for coffee anymore, anyway.
Angie came back out in a pair of jeans and a nice shirt. She put her hair up in a bun. She looked almost professional. Marcus considered asking her why but pushed those thoughts away. She would tell him if she wanted to.
She came close to him and stood on her tiptoes, planting a kiss right on his lips. He couldn’t help but smile. He’d missed her so much, missed their little kisses, little moments like these, and for a moment everything else faded away.
But then she was leading the way outside and he grabbed the keys that had been hanging on the peg and then they were outside, standing in front of his Bronco, Marcus’s eyes taking every last inch of the old vehicle in. It was beat up, that much was true. But it was the same year as his old Bronco. There were no police lights on top, no spotlight above the mirror, and definitely no police scanner and radio inside of it, but it was the same.
It was almost like his truck hadn’t been totaled and then hauled off for scrap, after all.
“You like it?”
Marcus just nodded and they climbed into the vehicle. Everything came flooding back to him: his time as Sheriff, the amount of times he’d driven his Bronco around town, everything that had been good.
Things are still good.
But was that true? If it hadn’t been for Angie, would he consider things good at all? He didn’t think so.
The Bronco fired up with the familiar rumble – if a little bit rougher than usual, but he knew he could fix that. Somehow, his life seemed like it was falling back in place. He had Angie and he had his vehicle back. What else did he need?
They made their way into Charming slowly. Marcus was in no huge hurry and neither was Angie. He felt as if what was going to happen was inevitable. He was going to check out the scene of the crime. That much he was certain of. After that, he wasn’t sure – and he found that truthfully, at that moment with Angie at his side, he didn’t care. They talked more about what had happened while he’d been away. Angie told Marcus how her pregnancy was coming along, and Marcus’s heart swelled so much that it became hard to drive.
Things were going to be okay.
Art Fields lived a few blocks over from the Great Southern, right on the edge of town. Marcus passed the old motel, its lights off and looking deserted, and felt a pang of sadness. The sun was just coming up but already the farmers and townsfolk were out in droves.
He didn’t like what he saw. There were faces he didn’t recognize, nice new cars everywhere. The coffee shop was booming. A news van drove past him, passing him in the oncoming lane. Marcus almost reached up to flip his lights on – what they had done was illegal – and then he realized that he couldn’t do anything any longer.
He followed the van and was unsurprised that it parked in front of Art Fields�
�s house. When the doors opened, Marcus noticed that Angie stiffened next to him.
“What’s up?” he asked, following her eyes to the woman getting out of the passenger door. The woman had long dark hair, sharp nails, and a no-nonsense look about her. Marcus immediately disliked the woman.
Marcus put the Bronco in park and killed the engine, then climbed out. He walked over to the man who had been driving the van, who now had the back doors open and was pulling out camera equipment. He had a backwards hat on, long hair down past his shoulders, and a gray vest stuffed full of lenses and other stuff Marcus didn’t recognize.
“Hey,” Marcus said. He could feel Angie behind him, tension in the air.
“What,” the man said. It wasn’t a question; he didn’t even look at Marcus as he said it.
“You passed me back there,” Marcus said. “It was dangerous.”
The man spared him a glance and shrugged his shoulders. “Slowin’ everyone down.”
“I was going the speed limit.”
“Like I said, slowin’ everyone down. Keep it moving next time, buddy.”
Marcus opened his mouth to say something, but instead closed it. What else could he do? He wasn’t Sheriff any longer, and this man obviously didn’t care what he did.
Suddenly, Marcus felt old and out of place. Obsolete. Like in the time that he had been gone, Charming had changed and passed him by. It no longer felt like home.
But then Angie grabbed his hand and squeezed and he felt better.
“Oh my God!” someone yelled. Marcus instinctively turned, pushing Angie back to protect her from danger – but the news woman was striding towards Marcus, a devilish smile on her face, high heels clicking on the pavement. “You’re him!” Marcus didn’t say anything. “Jacob, this is him!”
Marcus didn’t know who him was, but the woman obviously knew who she was talking about, and she was coming right at Marcus. He pushed Angie further behind him still, suddenly afraid that this woman was crazy – she was coming right at him, after all.
But now the cameraman – Jacob – had turned back to Marcus and he, too, had a smirk on his face. His beard was scraggly and unkempt. Marcus disliked the man, though he couldn’t put his finger as to why. The man lifted a camera and flipped a switch. Immediately, a light appeared on the camera, shining into his face. He covered his eyes from the sudden bright light.
“I’d heard you were out,” the woman said, extending a hand. Her lips were red, her lipstick so dark that it almost blended in with the slowly brightening morning sky. “I’m Juliette Busch. Call me Julie.”
Marcus felt himself raising his hand without thinking of it. Her grip was tight, her hands cold and clammy, and Marcus felt more dislike wrapping itself around him.
“How about an interview?”
“An interview?” Marcus asked. “About wha? –”
But Angie was pushing in front of him and saying, “He won’t be giving you an interview. Not today, not tomorrow, not any time!”
The dislike that slid over the other woman’s face was immediate, though it faded in an instant – but not fast enough for Marcus to have missed it. He glanced over at Angie. Her dislike was plain on her face.
“And the girlfriend,” Julie Busch said, crossing her arms and bouncing her long nails up and down on one forearm.
“Let’s go, Marcus,” Angie said, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him towards the house, which was already abuzz with police officers on the other side of yellow tape.
“It’ll be good for you, Mr. Stone!” Julie yelled from behind them. “Clear your name! Let everyone know just what really happened!”
“Ignore her,” Angie said, leading the way to the tape. No one seemed to pay them any attention.
“Who was she?”
“Julie Busch,” Angie spat. “One of the first reporters on the scene after the murders.”
Marcus glanced behind them. “What’s so bad about her?” he asked. When Angie shot him a look he quickly said, “She just seemed like a nosy reporter. What’d she do to you?”
“The stuff she’s reported on you, Marcus,” Angie said, looking down at the ground, as if she didn’t want to say more. “Let’s just say that it wasn’t good. Not at all.”
Marcus watched as the two reporters made their way up to the tape a few feet to their right. Marcus vaguely wondered what had been said about him on national news. But did it matter? It was all false, anyway. He was a free man. He’d done nothing wrong.
Well, as far as those murders are concerned, anyway, he reminded himself. He was just about to ask Angie what the news had said about him, but then he saw one of the officers was looking at him curiously.
The sun had risen just enough for Marcus to get a good look at the man. He immediately knew he was a Sheriff, and by the way he carried himself, Marcus assumed he was the Sheriff. He was Marcus’s replacement.
“Marcus Stone,” he said, coming close to the yellow tape. He didn’t extend his hand. For that, Marcus was thankful; the feeling of Julie Busch’s hand on his was still enough to make him squirm. He found himself rubbing his hand on his jeans without even thinking about it. “Come with me. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
He lifted up the yellow tape and Marcus and Angie walked through. The Sheriff said, “Not her. Just you.”
“If you have anything to say to me, she’s coming with. Either that, or I walk,” Marcus threatened. He knew he was in no place to argue – but after a moment’s consideration the Sheriff nodded, though Marcus could tell it hurt him to do so. Marcus and Angie followed him into Art Fields’s house.
Chapter 7
Angie watched and followed the two men apprehensively; Sheriff Nixon in the lead, the ex-Sheriff Marcus Stone trailing him. Angie knew enough about Marcus to know that he wasn’t happy about following this other man. If Angie had to guess, he disliked Nixon as much as she did.
But they still followed dutifully. Angie took in everything she could and she knew Marcus was doing the same thing. The passed a room off of the hall. Police officers were in there, crouching down, observing something on the floor, but Angie couldn’t see what.
The Sheriff stopped just outside of the kitchen and turned back towards them. Angie saw that Marcus stiffened up. She stepped up beside him and grabbed his hand; his nostrils were flaring. Whatever he was smelling, he wasn’t liking it.
“Guess you’ll be used to this,” he said towards Marcus. He barely looked at Angie and then led the way into the kitchen.
Angie gasped as she walked in; Marcus just steeled himself, jaw set and fire blazing in his golden eyes. A man – Angie assumed it was Art Fields – was strung up in front of the sink, arms and legs spread wide. He’d been sliced open, but hadn’t been skinned.
She’d heard from Marcus just what the other murder scene had been like – neat, perfect, not a single trace of blood anywhere in the room. The serial killer had done everything exactly like he had wanted to, leaving no clues. Marcus had described him as a twisted expert.
This was different. Blood was everywhere on the walls. Angie felt her hand traveling to her wide open mouth. It was everywhere. Seeing that much blood…
She felt like she was going to throw up.
“See what it says?” the Sheriff asked.
What it says?
Angie looked back at the blood, fighting the roiling feeling in her stomach, and she realized that the blood wasn’t splashed everywhere without rhyme or reason.
Written in blood were words.
“You think you have the right man, but you’re wrong,” Marcus read. “Jesus…”
“You see why I pulled some strings and got you released?” Nixon asked.
Marcus tore his eyes away from the wall, looking at the man. Angie watched quietly.
“That was you?” Marcus asked. “Why?”
“Not because I think you didn’t do it,” the Sheriff said, coming close to Marcus. Marcus was a big man, and much younger than the Sheriff, but when Nixon appr
oached him Angie saw Marcus almost back down. “Because I still think you did. Or at least you had something to do with it. I don’t think you’re completely innocent.” He glanced at Angie. “Neither of you. There’s been too much shit going on around you lately for you two to be completely innocent. But you were gonna get released anyway, once this crime scene got out. I figured it might as well be by me so I can keep an eye on you.”
“Thanks,” Marcus said, though all three of them in the room knew that he truly didn’t mean it. “But why are you showing me this?”
The Sheriff leaned back and hitched up his pants, looking at the body and the blood. “It pains me to do this – but it’s my job. I have to offer you police protection until this all blows over. The killer – whoever he is – wants you out. And if he wants you out, then I want to know why. Let us protect you.”
“You mean let you keep an eye on me,” Marcus said. “Where do you want to keep me? The safe house in Haven?”
“Good a place as any,” he told them. “She can go, too.”
“You want us out of Charming,” Angie stated. “We’re not going.”
“Angie,” Marcus said, turning towards her. “You should go. They can protect you there. Let me handle this.”
“It’s a both or nothing deal, Stone,” Nixon told him. “Either you both go into protection, or neither one of you does.”
“Let me help,” Marcus said. “You know I was a sheriff for years. You need a man like me to help you get to the bottom of this.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I can help,” Marcus pleaded. “Let Angie go into protection. Use me. Use me as bait, anything. Let me help.”
“Marcus, I’m not going without you.”
The Sheriff looked at both of them and then shook his head. “Ain’t gonna happen, Stone.”
“Then we’re done here.”
“This is your final offer, Stone,” Nixon said as they walked down the hallway. “You walk out those doors, don’t come crawling back to me if he starts to target you. That is, if you’re not involved in it.”
Mate’s Harvest: Bear Sheriff III Page 4
