by C. C. Snow
For bringing out my happy memories. For being infinitely patient. For being such an amazing man. Remembering what he said to me once, I murmur, “For being you. I love you.”
I adore it when his smile starts in his eyes, knowing that it comes from within. I try not to let it hurt when he doesn’t respond to my words of love, but when our lips meet in the sweetest kiss we’ve ever shared, slow and lingering, I feel like he is telling me how much I mean to him. Reluctantly ending the kiss, I stand up and tug him toward the kitchen, ready to appease my rumbling stomach.
Working together, we ladle the chili in bowls and serve up the cornbread.
“Thanks for making dinner. This looks delicious.” Placing glasses of water in front of our food, Sean sits down across from me.
“You’re welcome.” I smile shyly. “Oh! I bumped into Leslie and her son, Mac, at the hospital today. It’s too bad I didn’t get to meet James. Oh my gosh, Mac is the cutest little boy,” I gush. “I got to hold him and when we were about to leave, he didn’t want to let go. And neither did I. Leslie said he took a liking to me and invited us to have dinner with them so I can see him again.”
At the loud clang of metal hitting ceramic, I glance up to see Sean’s face pull taut with tension. His hands are curled into tight fists on the table.
“Sean, is something wrong?” I glance down at the chili, wondering if I had gone overboard with the spices.
“We’re not going,” he bites out, his jawline a steel beam.
Taking aback by his curt tone, I cock my head in askance. “Why not? I thought they were your friends.”
He pushes away the bowl and growls, “I’ll call Leslie and turn down the invitation.”
Getting more bewildered by the moment, I ask carefully, “I don’t understand. Is there a reason why you don’t want to see them?”
A look I can only describe as panic crosses his face as he stands up, the chair almost upending in his haste. “I’m going to take a shower. I’m not that hungry.”
Alarm and irritation commingle as I stand up. “Sean, talk to me.”
Running his fingers impatiently through his hair, he refuses to make eye contact with me. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
My lips tighten in aggravation and hurt at how he’s shutting me out. This isn’t the first time he’s refused to talk about James. “There obviously is or you wouldn’t be avoiding your friends.”
“I’m not avoiding them,” he says, his voice rising in agitation.
“Fine. Don’t go. I’ll go by myself,” I say in irritation.
A cold, hard glint appears in his eyes, making me uneasy. “Why are you so insistent on going?”
“I like Leslie and Mac and I’d like to meet James. I want to get to know your friends,” I explain in a soft timbre. There are so many facets of this man I haven’t seen and I want to know him, inside and out.
“Well I don’t want you to know my friends.” Each word comes out of his mouth like the lash of a whip. Sharp. Cutting.
It takes a second for his meaning to sink in and when it does, I stumble back in shock. The harsh-faced person in front of me can’t be the same man who held me tenderly and listened to me talk about my mom not five minutes ago. I blink rapidly to relieve the burning in my eyes and try to clear the lump in my throat. I don’t bother asking why because there is no answer he can give me which won’t worsen the pain.
Was he ashamed of me?
Remembering Cael’s remarks about Sean’s short-lived relationships, I feel a wave of nausea wash over me. Why bother introducing me to his friends if he thought the relationship would be over soon.
“I see,” I say through stiff lips, although I don’t see a damn thing.
“Fuck! That’s not what I meant.” Looking tormented Sean reaches for me, but I back out of his reach.
Rushing to the living room to pick up my textbook, I babble, “I’m not hungry either. I need to study for finals. I’ll probably be pulling an all-nighter so don’t wait up for me.”
“Maggie!” In a few strides, he reaches me and clasps my upper arms. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. I’ll call Leslie and let her know we can do dinner next week.” He smiles, but I know it’s fake because his eyes are as cold as a Siberian winter.
Dropping my gaze to the cover of my book, I shake my head. “It’s okay. I have finals for the next couple of weeks anyway.”
He pulls me in for a hug and instead of melting into him like I normally would, I let the book keep us a foot apart. Lips grazing my temple, he whispers, “Angel, please forgive me. I’m sorry.”
The sincerity and remorse in his voice cannot be denied and I gather my courage to ask the question I dread the answer to. “Sean, if you don’t think you want…” I swallow against the stone in my throat and finish the rest of the sentence in rapid-fire speed. “To continue with our relationship—”
Panic and denial fill his eyes before he slams his mouth over mine to cut off my words. The kiss is frenzied and desperate and he doesn’t relent even when my breath is coming in fast bursts through my nose. He pulls away until a bare inch separates us and whispers fervently, “No! Goddamn it, don’t ever think that. I want this. If you want to see Leslie, we’ll go tomorrow night.”
Relief makes my limbs weak and I cling onto his arms to hold me upright, but I can’t forget his violent reluctance to see his friends. And to them meeting me. Give him time, Maggie. “No, it’s okay. Let me get through finals and then we’ll talk.”
His body relaxes at the reprieve and another burr of doubt latches under my skin, adding to the collection already hooked into my flesh. Most days I can pretend they’re not there, but when they are activated, they send doubt shooting through my bloodstream like a poisonous toxin.
“Come on. Finish eating before you head upstairs to study.” He tugs me toward the kitchen table.
“Only if you eat with me.”
“Of course.”
Another fake smile and my heart squeezes with misgiving. I hate it when he puts on his mask in front of me. Others may not be able to see the subtle differences between his private self and his public self, but to me, they may as well be two different people. Other than on a few rare moments, Sean doesn’t wear his public mask in front of me and I despise seeing it.
After a quiet dinner, I go into the guest bedroom and force my brain to concentrate on my studies instead of dwelling on our almost-fight, but in the back of my mind, the questions continue to run in circles with no answers.
In the small hours of the morning, I sleepily note that Sean is carrying me into our bedroom. I must have nodded off at my desk again. Murmuring softly to me, he strips me out of my clothes and tucks me into bed, right next to him.
Tears threaten at how tenderly he holds me. In these moments, I feel so cherished that it’s all too easy to forget the times he puts a wall between us. I snuggle closer to his warmth, all the while knowing in my heart that I can’t continue to be an emotional yo-yo.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sean
I force my muscles to relax so that I don’t crush her in my arms. My impulse is to keep a death grip on her, afraid she’s slipping away from me.
Yeah, you almost lost her, you dumbass.
But that dark insidious voice hisses: You’re going to lose her sooner or later.
In the back of my mind, there is a ticking time bomb, counting down the weeks, days, minutes, seconds, I have left with her.
Tick tock.
In order to disarm the bomb, I have to untangle myself from the fucked-up mess of my life, but one wrong step and everything will explode in my face.
There’s the upcoming visit from Cael over Christmas. How was he going to react to all the things I had been hiding from him? The attack on his sister. Having a relationship with her behind his back.
The situation with her attacker seems to be coming to a head. When I made a call to Leslie to chew her out about manipulating me, she apologized sheepishly and informed
me that Hannah Michaels would be coming out of her induced coma soon. My first reaction was relief. If Michaels remembered who attacked her, Maggie would be safe. Then it was followed by panic because I wanted an excuse to keep her close for a bit longer.
I’m such a bastard.
And then there was James. The surge of dread at Maggie meeting him and coming that much closer to my secret shame had me lashing out and hurting the one person I never want to hurt.
I press my face into her hair, taking in her sweet scent and warmth. The four nights I was without her over Thanksgiving had been hellish and I can’t imagine not having her here. In my bed. In my arms.
Tick tock.
***
When my life falls apart, it does so swiftly and in spec-fucking-tacular fashion.
It starts with a phone call from Leslie on Friday morning.
“Sean, Hannah Michaels is awake.”
My back stiffens and I lean forward. “And?”
“She doesn’t remember the attack.”
My stomach drops.
“The doctors say it’s not unusual for the mind to block out traumatizing events. The good news is she remembers everything else. She remembers breaking up with her boyfriend earlier in the day because he was cheating on her. The guy lied about being out of town for work. He probably lied about everything else. My guys are looking for him right now. I’m going to enjoy my little talk with Mr. Calvin Poole.” There’s a note of fiendish anticipation in her voice.
“Thanks, Leslie. Keep me posted.”
“Will do. FYI, I already called Maggie and left her a message.”
“Okay. Talk to you later.” Glancing at the clock, I note that Maggie’s still in class. I try to concentrate on my work until I can reach her. The last five days have been strained between us and I don’t know how to fix it. The only time we seem to be able to communicate is when we’re in bed together, but as soon as I stop touching her, I sense her drifting away.
The second blow comes from left field.
In the afternoon, Marc leans against my desk, his face funereal. “Sheena Lewis left the safe house and dodged her escort.”
“What the fuck?” I explode out of my chair. “She’s the only witness we have for the case. Without her, we’re up shit creek.”
“Yeah, I know. I think someone’s spooking her.”
“You think Carmona’s goons are behind this?” Anger and disgust fill me at the thought of the sick fuck and his equally psychotic minions.
Shoulders drooping wearily, Marc sighs. “That would be my guess. Nobody has seen her since yesterday morning.”
“Shit!”
“Give her a call. If you can’t get her to check in, nobody can,” Marc urges.
I sit down and call Sheena, but her number goes to voicemail. Deliberately gentling my voice to a non-threatening timbre, I say, “Hey Sheena. It’s Sean Rowan. Give me a call when you get this. I’m checking in to see how you’re doing. I’m worried about you. Let’s talk.” I hang up and try another number. After leaving the same message, I look at Marc in frustration.
I stand up and grab my jacket. My gut is telling me something is off with her. “Let’s go. I have a bad feeling. We need to find her.”
His brown eyes somber, Marc shrugs into his holster. “I already checked for her at her apartment, at her boyfriends’—both of them, at her mom’s, and at her sister’s.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to sort through what I know about her. “There’s one more place we need to check.”
But we don’t find Sheena at her sometime pimp’s apartment either. Roderick swears he hasn’t seen her for weeks and when he proceeds to complain about the money she owes him, I’m inclined to believe him. We return to her apartment again, but nobody answers the door and there is no sound from inside. Neither of her neighbors have seen her either.
“Motherfucker,” Marc says as soon as we get in the car.
“Fucking son-of-a-bitch,” I join in viciously under my breath, feeling like everything is spiraling out of my control.
Ring.
An unknown number. “Rowan, here.”
“Sean, it’s Sheena.” She sounds scared out of her mind. I hold a hand up to tell Marc to stay silent and he leans over to listen in.
“Sheena.” I infuse calm confidence into my voice. “Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you or he’s going to come after me.”
“Who?”
“Bleed,” she whispers the nickname of Carmona’s second-in-command, a man known for his perverted skills with his karambit knife.
“When did he talk to you, Sheena?” I ask urgently. “Tell me where you’re at and I’ll send a car for you. We’ll put you in another safe house.”
“I can’t.” She lets loose a series of wrenching sobs. “He says if I testify, he’s going to kill my family, one by one, by carving his initials into their organs. I’m sorry, but I can’t risk their lives. And detective, he told me to send you a message. Watch your back.”
Click.
“FUCK!” I barely restrain myself from smashing my phone onto the dashboard.
Marc looks pale under his olive skin. “Jesus Christ. That fucking psychopath.”
Teeth clenched with rage at Bleed’s threats, I turn the engine. “We’re going to find him and deliver our own message.”
Mark nods curtly in agreement, but after four hours of searching the neighborhood, we can’t find any of the known gang members, even the two-bit hangers-on. We head back to the office and I make some calls to my street contacts, putting out the word that I’m looking for the gangbanger.
I scrub my face, feeling like I’ve aged two years today. “I’m going to go home now.”
“Sean, watch your six,” Marc says, lines of concern etched on his forehead.
“I will, but I’m not going to let some megalomaniac stop me from putting Carmona away.” This is not the first time I’ve received threats to drop a case and it won’t be the last.
Terror flashes through me at the possibility of Maggie being targeted, but my pulse calms when I remember we’ve kept the relationship secret. I make a mental note to talk to Bo about stepping up his surveillance.
“Neither am I, but don’t do anything stupid. There’s a reason nobody’s caught Bleed up to this point,” Marc warns.
“Yeah, I’ll be careful.”
When I walk to my car, I fan out my senses, seeking any disturbance in my surroundings. Many may dismiss it as hoodoo, but most cops and soldiers swear they can feel an electrical charge in the air when they are in danger. Throughout my career, my gut has saved me numerous times, but I’m not picking up anything right now.
As soon as I walk in and see Maggie standing in the kitchen, my muscles loosen in relief. She must have sensed my need for her touch because when I stalk up to her and draw her into my arms, she sinks into me with a soft sigh. Her hands massage the back of my neck, loosening up the tension and I release a deep breath.
This is exactly what I need.
“Leslie called today.”
“About Poole?” I ask.
“Uh-huh.” She tilts her head to look up at me. God, she’s so beautiful. “So you’ve heard?”
“The case is still open, Maggie, so don’t let your guard down. As far as I know, he’s not even in custody yet.”
“You don’t think it’s Calvin?” she asks.
“Do you remember anything about that night that would pinpoint him as the perp?”
She scrunches her nose and then shakes her head. “No. It was too dark and I never saw his face. It could have been anyone.”
I sigh. “Until he makes a full confession, I’m going to assume the attacker is still out there and you need to do the same.”
Worry lines marring her forehead, she nods. “I’ll be careful.”
Nuzzling my nose into her neck, I let her essence soak into me.
“How was work?”
I open my mouth to tell her about my case, but I discard the
idea almost immediately. We already have enough outside forces straining our relationship. “Fine,” I say, keeping my tone even.
She almost looks disappointed by my answer, but before I can examine her expression, she turns back to the stove. “That’s good. Dinner should be ready soon.”
Staring at her back, I sense her pulling away and I can’t figure out how to bridge the distance.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Maggie
“I’m sorry!” I say for the hundredth time as we walk into the apartment.
“I think you turned me into a soprano,” Sean complains. He waddles exaggeratedly and drops onto the sofa.
Closing the door, I drop my gym bag onto the floor. “I said I’m sorry!” I can’t hide the tendril of laughter in my voice at his antics. I know I didn’t really hurt him because I’m not strong enough to do any damage and it was at best a glancing blow. Striding into the kitchen, I grab two bottles of water.
Taking a long draw from mine, I hand the other to him. My muscles are pleasantly sore and loose from the workout. I’ll probably never become an expert at martial arts, but my body is already more fluid and limber. Serena has started to teach me some offensive moves.
Best of all, I hardly have any more nightmares about that night. I don’t know if it’s the self-defense training that lends me a measure of control or if it’s the passage of time, but I’m grateful I don’t wake up screaming in the middle of the night.
“My poor family jewels,” Sean says with a mock mournful look, palming his crotch with one hand.
My gaze follows his movement and my saliva glands activate at the way his hand cradles the large bulge. “It was an accident! I thought you were going to block me. I haven’t gotten in a single hit so far,” I huff.
A devilish gleam appears in his eyes. “It was all your fault. I got distracted by your cute butt.” Playfully, he makes a grab for me and palms said butt, making me whimper softly. The amusement in his eyes turns into glowing heat. His pupils dilate, leaving only a small ring of blue.
Suddenly all the moisture disappears from my mouth and my lower belly grows heavy with desire. I know sex is not going to resolve the many issues we have, but I eagerly grasp at a chance to re-establish some of our closeness.
