Upper Hand (Cedar Tree Book 5)

by Freya Barker

  “Think of it this way, Bethie. He’s had it all now, he’s done for the rest of his life.”

  “I fucking hope so,” she spit out, not at all amused.

  The bruising will fade, although I was warned it could be sore. Whatever. The third bullet took a chunk out of my bicep and that ticked me off. I hadn’t even noticed it. Not when it happened, and not when I was whaling on Jablonski’s sidekick. Beth noticed that some of the blood I was covered in, was actually partially mine. So while she was being stitched up, luckily her chest wasn’t deep and just needed cleaning and dressing, the attending was stitching me up as well.

  That’s when Gus came in and briefed us on that bastard, Damien Gomez.

  So now that he’s standing in the door of the room, where I’m trying to comfort a crying Beth on my lap, still trying to come to terms with the fact I nearly killed the guy who was hurting her. I don’t even think. I get up and let Beth’s legs slide down to the floor, never taking my eyes of that fucking son of a bitch as I urge her to sit down. When she does, it takes two steps for me to be in range to swing at his face. He obviously wasn’t expecting that, since he didn’t even move, and I’m shaking out my fist, that was already throbbing from the earlier beating I handed out.

  “That’s assault, your second for the day,” the ignorant prick dares suggest, making me even angrier as I grab him by the collar.

  “You self-serving bastard. You dangled my woman like a fucking carrot for fucking weeks! All because you were so desperate to get your hands on Jablonski. You let her believe for fucking weeks that her son was alone and unprotected somewhere out there, planting his phone for Jablonski to find, so he’d think Dylan took off. Knowing full fucking well that he’d use any information on that phone to try and find him. Also knowing full well that when you did that, you left his mother out to swing in the wind. You fucking did all this knowingly, when all the time you had him confined to a safe house, refusing him the call that would’ve put his mother’s mind and heart at ease.” I twist his collar, tightening it on his throat. “You refused to take action when you first saw her being beaten on in the parking lot, and the second time when she was drugged and kidnapped from the hospital. To top that off, you slacked off on the follow up, allowing them to cut my woman.” I lean in to where my nose is almost touching his. “In the fucking face!” I feel a hint of satisfaction when I see him flinch as I bellow the last right in his mug.

  From behind me I feel a hand slide across my back.

  “Big Guy, let me in here,” she whispers, the tears still evident in her voice. I move back just a little, letting go of his neck while Beth inserts herself between us. “You can send in someone else to take a statement,” she hisses in his face, “‘cause you’ll be too busy nursing this.” With that she hauls out her arm and with her full bodyweight behind it, slams her fist in his face. Something he obviously didn’t expect. His hands come up to cover his nose, but only after my Bean managed to find it with great precision. Slipping my arms around her waist, I pull her back with me while she shakes out her hand.

  “Jesus. You broke my nose,” Damien mumbles from behind his hands.

  “Lucky that’s all she did,” Gus announces, walking in the room and taking stock of the situation. “Better get that looked at,” he suggests with the hint of a smile in his voice. “Beth’s got a mean right hook.”

  Without a word, just a dirty look, Damien slinks out of the room and Gus turns to face us.

  “Feel better?” he asks Beth, who is still nursing her hand but doesn’t hesitate in answering.

  “Fuck yes.”

  “Good, cause that’s the only shot you’ll get. I’ll have a word to try and make it so that this doesn’t blow back on you. Word to the wise though, assault on an FBI agent is generally not a good idea. Although, this one was more deserving than most.” He stands with his arms folded over his chest and still his admonishment doesn’t quite have the desired effect. Maybe because he can’t seem to fight the smile that steals over his face.

  Neil walks in, crooked grin on display, carrying a baggie of ice he hands to Beth. “Put that on there, Slugger, but keep moving your fingers so they don’t stiffen up.” His hand was sliced in the altercation, and had required some stitches, but he refused the bandages the nurse had tried to wrap around it, claiming it would interfere with his keyboarding. Computer techie covering up a kick-ass operative. He’d struggled Jablonski to the ground, avoiding any further damage from the knife he was wielding, and managing to dodge the shots from the other guy’s gun at the same time. Definitely someone you’d want on your side. I was looking at Neil with a whole new level of respect.

  “They’re gonna have to talk to you at some point, might as well get it over with,” Gus suggests. “Why don’t I see if we can move this show to Drew’s offices. May be a good idea to have him sit in at the same time. Saves everyone time.”

  -

  -

  God that felt good. What didn’t feel so good was the throbbing of my hand after, a small sacrifice to make. After icing it for a bit, the ER doc came in to have a look; said it was fine but to be prepared for it to smart for a bit. With a shake of his head, he told both Clint and I we were good to go.

  So after a quick check in with Jed, we go straight from the hospital to a meeting in the conference room at the sheriff’s office. After the interview with two FBI agents—Damien nowhere in sight, thank God—as well as Drew, Neil, Joe, Gus and both Clint and I that lasted two hours, we finally are home. Home being Clint’s house. I carefully snuggle up to Clint, who is laying on his back in bed. Each of us nursing our battle wounds.

  “I can’t believe they’re gonna keep Dylan in hiding,” I mumble against his good shoulder. After letting me talk to Dylan finally—a tearful conversation on both sides, full of remorse on the part of my son—I was told that for his own safety, seeing as they want him to testify, Dylan would be held in protective custody indefinitely.

  “Sucks. But I can see it’d be safer that way,” Clint’s deep rumble soothes over me. “Max’ll be here tomorrow when Caleb and Katie bring him back, and you can love on him without worry. Dylan’s safe where he is. He was out there somewhere, Jablonski wouldn’t hesitate keeping after him, and therefore you. With him in custody, they have the head of the snake, but the body is still writhing. Until they can decimate the entire organization, you know he wouldn’t be safe. His testimony is crucial.” His hand draws lazy circles on my shoulder as he talks and my eyes are getting heavy. Been a long day and it’s nearly midnight, but I can’t quite stop my head from spinning, reorganizing everything I thought I knew since Max was dropped off on my doorstep. A disturbing thought enters my mind and I lift my head.

  “What about Tammy? Max’s mom?” I clarify when I see the blank look on Clint’s face. “Where is she? Why hasn’t she come forward? Her brother is still being held in jail, and I can’t imagine her walking away like that, without ever checking in with her family or more importantly, her child.”

  Clint lifts his hand and tucks my hair behind my ear. “We’ll ask Gus tomorrow if he’s heard something, yeah? Let’s get some rest now, babe. Tomorrow that little monster will be tearing up the house again, we’re gonna need our energy.”

  With a hand on my neck, he pulls me down to his mouth, kissing me deeply before releasing his hold. I put my head down on his shoulder and with his arms firmly around me, breathing in the smell of shower gel on his skin, I let myself slide into sleep. Last thing I hear him whisper in my hair is, ‘Love you’.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “He’s loving it.”

  I’m watching Beth walk toward me from the back door, where she was watching Max climb the few steps it takes to get onto the finished platform and tree house we finished building yesterday. Since my injuries had slowed me down some in the progress, we had our first minor snowfall last week threatening to halt construction until spring, I didn’t hesitate when all the guys showed up yesterday, armed with tool belts and off
ered to finish it with me. With Gus, Mal, Joe, Seb, Caleb, and Neil all helping out, it took less than six hours to put the walls and roof up, build stairs and a railing around the platform. The women all congregated in the kitchen and living room, keeping Max and Mattias occupied and cooking up a feast. When it was all done, I found our home filled with friends spread out over the house, eating, drinking, and laughing. I can’t remember a time I felt this at home.

  This morning is better, seeing the look on the little guy’s face when I brought him outside. He’s been glued to our sides ever since Caleb and Katie brought him back. I realize I’ve fallen in love with him as much as with his grandmother. Hearing his bright little voice calling for his ‘Gammy’ every morning, filling the tiny hole in my heart that always waited for children to fill one day.

  I’m sitting with my back against the shed, my hat on my head keeping the chill off, watching Beth move to me. The smile on her face so big, it draws almost all the attention from the still bright red scar across her cheek. Almost, because every time I see it I remember the uncontrollable rage that came over me seeing her cut and bleeding. Hair loose, cascading down her shoulders, having given up tying it back, when I just continue to pull it free, and her soft body wrapped in a quilt from the back of the couch. When she gets close, I open my legs, pull her back against my front and wrap her in my arms, my chin resting on her shoulder.

  “He’s a little monkey, the way he goes up and down that ladder. Never thought a two-year-old could be so agile,” I mumble in her hair.

  “Should’ve seen his dad. I had to pull him down from the pantry shelves, more than a few times, when he was that age. Obsessed with animal crackers that kid was. No hiding place was safe, he always managed to zoom in on them. So it stands to reason he passed on some of this to his boy.” Her voice sounds a bit wistful when talking about Dylan. She’s talked to him a few times over the past few weeks, but always short and coming away none the wiser on when she’d be able to see him. We did start taking pictures of Max that we were able to send to an email provided to us, and in talking to Dylan, we know he gets every last one of them. At least that’s something. My anger at Dylan has slowly evaporated. Yes, the kid made a stupid move, but he tried to rectify it without anyone getting dragged down. He hadn’t counted on one Damien Gomez of the FBI to let the heat come down on his mother. That part was on Damien, not Dylan. So I could let that grudge go. Word is, it’ll be months before Jablonski’s case goes to trial, and the progress on rolling up the rest of his syndicate is slow. Hence, Dylan’s return to his family won’t be any time soon, either.

  We’re still being careful, never knowing if there will be additional blow back our way, but things have been quiet.

  Beth’s returned to work at the diner, only taking the dinner shifts so that I work during the day, and she works a few hours at night. One of us is always with Max that way, although it doesn’t leave a whole lot of time for the two of us together. That’s why Sunday and Monday are sacred, and I’ve adjusted my hours to fit that. With Jed still recuperating in Gus and Emma’s guesthouse, which they so graciously offered him this last week since he’s been home, I’ve put more responsibility on the shoulders of our foremen, who are stepping up to the plate.

  Still, I feel like life is suspended, and I’m itching to do something about that. In a short period of time, my roots here in Cedar Tree have grown deep and solid. I can’t see myself anywhere else when I have good friends, a successful business, and a woman, who’s enriched my life in a way I’d never dreamed possible right here. Christmas is coming up in a little over a week, and I’m finding myself looking forward to it for the first time since leaving home.

  “You’re thinking so hard, I can hear the wheels turning.” Beth twists her head back and smiles at me and I don’t hesitate. I take her smiling mouth and pour everything I’m feeling into it.

  “Clint...” she whispers when I pull up a little. Her hand comes up and strokes the scruff on my jaw. “Love you, honey,” she says, her eyes bright.

  “This here, right now, is everything to me,” I tell her. “You cozy in my arms, telling me you love me. Our little guy happy and playing in the tree house I’ve always wanted to build for my children. We’ve been through some shit, but here we are on the other side, with all this in our life. Not a religious man, Bean, but I feel blessed. Only thing that would make this better would be you hauling the rest of your shit over here and making this your permanent home.”

  Her eyes mist over and she covers her mouth with her hand. “Big Guy...”

  “Baby. We’re both forty-six and have already spent too much time fucking around. I want you in my life. And more so, I want that in a way that is permanent.”

  Lifting up she brushes her lips against my mouth. “Okay, honey. I’ll haul my shit over here and set up shop permanent-like.” The little smile on her face tells me she’s teasing before she gets serious. “I’m just not ready to sell my little house yet. Maybe we can rent it out?”

  Before I have a chance to answer, Max lets himself be known, effectively drawing all attention. “Gammy!”

  “Yes, little man?” Beth slips from my arms and walks over to the ladder, looking up at Max’s big smile.

  “Me hungwy.”

  I laugh, seeing as not much more than an hour ago, Max was wolfing down a stack of pancakes that could rival mine. The kid can eat.

  “How about we go inside, clean up a bit and I’ll make some grilled cheese for lunch?” Beth suggests, which apparently meets with Max’s approval, his loud “Yay!” and dive off the platform into Beth’s arms evidence.

  -

  -

  “That’s enough.”

  Clint slips his arms around my body from behind and I feel his lips on my neck. He put Max down for a nap, who seems to have tuckered himself out after lunch, and I’m just cleaning away the last of the dishes. I crave the physical closeness and loved the way it made me feel earlier. His mood, affection, and words gave me hope, but once inside he seemed distracted. We haven’t done much more than kiss and cuddle the last few weeks, and I’m missing the sex. The few times I’ve tried to initiate taking things a little further, I’ve been shut down. Not harshly, but each time he tucks me to him and tells me we’re not in a rush, a little of my newfound self-esteem crumbles. Initially we both were a bit bruised and battered, and so it made sense, but now all that remains is scars; his on his shoulder and mine on my face and chest. Maybe it’s the scars.

  I put my arms over his and lean my head back against his shoulder, hoping he’ll take what his body so obviously wants judging by the hard ridge against my ass.

  “Nothing better than a soft, warm woman in the kitchen, but even better when she’s willingly spread out in bed,” his voice rumbles and the words are like a trigger. Three weeks ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about brushing those words off as Clint being Clint—saying stuff that doesn’t sound half as good hearing as he intends it to be. But already insecure and confused with the mixed messages, it works like a red flag on a bull. And the bull in this case is me.

  “Seriously, Clint? You finally make a move without me initiating it and you pushing me away, and then you go and ruin it with that antiquated sexist garbage?” I push out from between him and the counter, round the island and turn to face him at a safe distance. “For weeks you’ve avoided touching me in any real way, and each time I tried I got shut down. I mean, I get that Max puts a bit of a damper on things, and you were injured to boot, but I could’ve done all the work. We’ve had opportunities.”

  The bewildered look on his face should’ve been a hint he doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about, which is why when he walks over and cups my face in his hands, his next words strike hard.

  “Babe—it’s the scar.”

  And there it is.

  Without hesitation I pull away and make a beeline for the bathroom down the hall, ignoring him calling my name and fighting tears. With both the door to the bedroom and the one to the
hallway locked, I sink down with my back against the bathtub, grabbing a towel on my way down to muffle the sobs that are breaking free. Fuck, fuck, fuck. That was way more harsh than I’d expected. Surprised, even though he just confirmed what I’d been fearing. Shocked, because the thought had not crossed my mind initially, wouldn’t have, the way I felt secure with him before I was taken—but now, after a good number of brush offs, it doesn’t seem so far-fetched. The fucking scar.

  “Beth, open the door,” I hear him from the bedroom. “Bean—talk to me.”

  For a few minutes, I ignore the soft knocks and pleas before I hear his footsteps disappear down the hall. My face is pressed to my knees, and the tears are relentless in coming, when I hear him coming back just moments later. Before I can clue in to what I’m listening to, the door to the bedroom is lifted clear off the hinges.

  “Baby...” Clint mumbles, as he steps in the bathroom and slides down beside me, pulling me onto his lap and folding his arms tightly around me. “I’m thinking I’m missing something. Or maybe it’s that my words are not making clear what’s in my mind. In my heart.” One of his hands comes to lift my head from where I’m still keeping it hidden against my knees. “Talk to me.”

  His voice is so gentle, I can’t stop my eyes from searching out his and find them full of the tenderness, also evident in his words. So I tell him what’s in my mind.

  “The scars. They turn you off.”

  This time the confusion on his face registers clearly, as does the darkness replacing it a moment later.

  “What?” he whispers, but it’s with barely contained anger.

  “My face—my chest. I know they’re not pretty, but I never thought—“

  His hands grab my shoulders and give me a shake, cutting me off mid-sentence. “Shut up,” he growls just before his mouth slams on mine, his tongue penetrating and taking charge. My mind freezes but my body seems to have no problem responding. But when he pulls away much too soon, his hands still on my shoulders, his anger hasn’t disappeared.