by A. J. Norris
“You’re home.” Brayden didn’t let go for a solid minute.
“Grace isn’t feeling great, and it’s past your bedtime,” Mikey said.
“I know, I know. I have school in the morning.”
Andrea strode toward Grace and embraced her too. The woman sniffled.
“I’m fine, only look like crap.”
Andrea stepped backward. “If you need anything, a ride, whatever, let me know.”
“I will.”
All four of them went into the living room. Andrea said goodbye and Mikey made sure her car started before locking the front door.
Grace had plopped down on the couch. Big mistake. She couldn’t get up. Her everything ached. Mikey pried her off the couch and walked her down the hallway to their bedroom. They stopped at Brayden’s room along the way. Since he had on his PJs already, he hopped into bed and they said goodnight.
Mikey closed his door then scooped Grace into his arms. Thank God, she thought. She couldn’t take another step. He carried her to their room and laid her down on the bed widthwise.
He disappeared into the bathroom and the tub faucet came on. She sat and took her coat and shirt off. Her bra gave her trouble. The frustration brought tears to her eyes. She had the thing half off, half on, and twisted when Mikey returned.
“Uh, you need help, darlin’?”
“No. Yes. This damn thing won’t come off.”
He knelt between her legs and undid the clasp. She leaned back against the soft blue blanket. He took her pants off and tossed them into the hamper, then slid her panties off.
“I love you,” she said. “You take such good care of me. I feel safe with you.”
“You bring out the best in me.” Mikey whisked her off the bed and into the bathroom.
The water warmed her immediately the second her skin touched the bath. Her toes had been so cold. She sank into the tub.
Mikey brought over a washcloth. The real soft kind, a navy one from her collection she had bought before knowing him. Grace stretched out and groaned. She ached all over. The tub was big enough for two.
“Are you getting in with me?”
“If you want me to.”
“Please. You can wash my back,” she said.
Without a word, he undressed and slid in behind her. The water level rose, spilling over the side. “Let me see the washcloth.” He lathered it with soap and gently massaged her back. Water tinkled as he rinsed the suds away.
“I thought I was going to die.”
“More so than when Cody attacked you?”
“This was different. When he attacked me all I could think about was getting away from him.”
“How was that any different from tonight?”
“Because in my car, it was like I wanted to fight because I felt I should, not because I wanted to. Like it was useless to even try.”
Mikey inhaled deeply. “What are you saying? You wanted to give up?”
“Yes, and that’s what scared me the most. How easy it would have been. I mean, I don’t want to die.”
“Funny, I’m oddly not comforted by that.”
She twisted her torso so she faced him. “I’m sorry. I was just scared.”
“Lie back against my chest and let me hold you.” He wrapped his thick arms across her mid-section. She smoothed her hand over his raven tattoo. “I love you,” he whispered.
She sighed softly, wishing they never had to leave the tub.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Harry
The best thing that happened after the AA meeting was that Harry hadn’t had time to think about getting drunk. He watched Cam from behind the two-way mirror located in the next room.
Cam sat with his hands cuffed behind his back in Interrogation Room 3. His eyes were closed, like he fell asleep sitting upright. He looked peaceful. No worry lines for this guy. He either wasn’t guilty of running Grace off the road or was a sociopath.
Harry barged into Interrogation Room 3, less for effect and more to wake Cam’s ass. He set his paper cup of shitty coffee on the steel table and took a seat. Normally he stood, however, tonight he was worn out. He turned his head and yawned so the perp wouldn’t see. Damn, he wanted to be home passed out in bed with Natalie snuggled against him. Harry sipped his coffee then asked, “So, you’re from California?”
“Not originally.”
“Ran your record. Age 26. Stint in juvie.”
“Expunged.”
“Still a stint in juvie,” Harry said, unfazed.
“Nothing since.”
“No arrests since, don’t you mean?” Harry rubbed his forehead. He squeezed his more than likely bloodshot eyes shut.
“You feeling all right, Detective?”
The cop glared at Cam.
“Detective who doesn’t like being called detective. Got it.”
Harry worked his jaw. Sipped his coffee. “Where were you going when you found Grace?”
“On my way home. Temporary anyway. And before you ask, I’m sleeping on my uncle’s couch until next week.”
“Leaving town so soon? You just got here.”
“No. Moving into my own place.” Cam glanced at the ceiling and let out a breath. He focused on Harry again. “Cut the shit already. If you really thought I tried to kill your daughter, you and I wouldn’t be talking right now.”
“Yeah? And what would we be doing?”
“You know what you’d be doing and it wouldn’t involve words.”
Harry snorted humorlessly. Who the hell was this guy? He opened Mia Dixon’s case file in front of him, and slid a picture across the table toward Cam, watching the guy’s reaction. The photo was the most gruesome of the batch, her still frozen face in the ice, cloudy eyes staring blankly at the camera, chapped and cracked lips. Harry couldn’t even look at it without losing his breath. She’d suffered, and he loathed how helpless that made him feel.
Cam stared at the picture. “What’s the victim’s name?”
Harry’s forehead crinkled. “Come on, you know her name, don’t you?”
“No. Why would I?” The guy shrugged, his cuffs clanking against the metal chair.
Harry smirked. Cam kept his eyes on the photo as he slid it backward. After putting the picture away, the men stared at each other.
“I didn’t kill that woman.”
Harry slapped the picture of the snowshoes onto the table. “These yours?” No prints had been found on them.
“Can’t say I’ve ever owned any snowshoes. Hey, aren’t I entitled to a phone call? I didn’t kill her, those aren’t my snowshoes, and any other pictures you have I’m sure I won’t recognize them either.”
“There’s a phone in the cell you can call collect on. First, tell me where you were Wednesday night.”
“Despite my better judgement, I’ll tell you because, again, I didn’t kill the girl. Had dinner at Hector’s Coney Island and I met my waitress later at her place. Stayed over, left early.”
“Name?”
“Misty something. Red hair, deceptively large tits.”
Harry chuckled. Unbelievable. “What’s wrong with big breasts?”
“Too big.” He shivered.
“That why you left early in the morning?”
“Yeah.” Cam smiled. “I fucked myself though, now I can’t go back there unless she quits.”
“Classy.”
Cam’s story made Harry appreciate Mikey more. His future son-in-law was a saint compared to this asshole.
* * *
Harry left Cam in Interrogation Room 3. He’d hold him for 24 hours, allow him to make his phone call. It was hard to imagine who’d he’d call. His record showed that he had no known living relatives other than Eric Lund, aka Needles Ned as he was called in the tattoo world. That guy was a scumbag no doubt. He had assault charges and drug possession on his sheet, most filed in California and one out East. As far as Cam, Harry still wanted to unravel the mystery of the initials on the briefcase, except without permission or a w
arrant to search, he wasn’t going to get any answers. It was possible the case was stolen.
Harry arrived home at 1:15 in the morning. He’d started thinking of Natalie’s as his place too. She had given him a key many years ago for emergencies, right after her husband left and Annie was still here. Shortly after, his wife had a fatal heart attack.
All the lights in her house were out. A streetlamp helped him navigate the living room. The drapes were open, letting in some light. He still whacked his shin on the chair. He clutched his leg and hopped around for a few seconds. “Sonofa…”
He limped to the bedroom, and quietly opened the door, shutting it behind him. The bathroom nightlight shone into the bedroom. Natalie lay on top of the comforter in socks and a flannel nightshirt that had risen up, revealing a bit of her panties. His breath caught, and his manhood woke up. Everything about the day went dormant. Thank God, because he was sick to death of thinking about it. He washed his face and hands then left his clothes on the floor of the bathroom. He walked into the bedroom and immediately returned for his clothes. Better to avoid that look of hers when she saw the dirty pile. Harry was still learning how not to be a disappointing pig. His girlfriend deserved a man who could pick up after himself. With Annie, he’d gotten too comfortable, and never appreciated her enough until after she died.
Natalie stirred on the bed, so he stopped moving. Once she settled he slipped under the covers. However, with her on top, the blanket didn’t quite fit over him. “Hey Nat, why don’t you get under the blanket,” he whispered. She whimpered and he helped her get underneath.
He put his hands behind his head and sighed deeply. Although exhaustion had taken root in his body, his eyes were wide open.
Harry rolled to his side and reached between the covers for Natalie in the dark. She turned and put a hand on the side of his head. “You okay?”
“I know we’re both tired but I need you right now.”
Natalie rolled over and laid on top of him. She kissed his lips briefly. Harry moaned against her mouth. “Mmm, you want me too?”
“You question that? You may be 55 but these arms,” she ran her hands over his biceps, “are sexy. And this stomach of yours, it may not be the six-pack you once had but it’s flat and hard.” She kissed him again.
“Yeah?” He squeezed her bottom cheeks. “I love this butt of yours. So smooth.”
She giggled. “Really?”
“Yeah, I can’t believe you’re 50.”
“Wait, I’m not 50.” She pulled her head back.
“You’re not?” He smiled even though she couldn’t see his face in the dark.
“No. I’m 39.”
“Good. I like younger women.”
Natalie snorted. “I bet you do.” She wiggled her underwear off her butt and pushed them down her legs. Harry grew harder, knowing he’d soon be inside her. She positioned him and he glided into where they both wanted him.
“Oh,” he gasped. “I needed this.”
“You can’t be 55. Are you sure you don’t take Viagra?”
He chuckled. “No. Can you imagine if I did?”
She sucked in a breath. “Don’t tease me.” Natalie sat up and placed her hands on his chest. He loved her on top, pressing him into the mattress. She moaned as he thrusted upward, giving her all of him. Her back arched, and she threw her head back. “Oh, Harry,” she breathed. He rolled up and pulled the flannel over her head. His hands traveled over her skin toward her breasts. The palms grazed her nipples. Her lips parted, and she licked them.
Continuing north, he ran his hands up the sides of her throat. She grasped his hands, riding him slowly and rhythmically. She knew how he liked it. From day one of their relationship, the woman had him all figured out. The things she could do with her body. Oh, had he known how she would make him feel, he could have had this sooner. Damn him and his stubbornness.
“I want to come from behind you,” he said.
She got off and onto her hands and knees. Harry leaned down and kissed along her spine. He pushed into her.
“Oh God,” she said, collapsing onto her elbows. He tried making love to her slowly, pulling out to the tip and sliding back in, except this only lasted twice before his body took over. Harry pounded until all that could be heard were their jagged breaths and skin slapping together. She cried out and so did he the second his orgasm hit. Harry filled her sex until he had nothing left to give.
They lay next to each other panting. She snuggled into his side. Fifty-five and need Viagra?
My ass. Harry still had it.
CHAPTER NINTEEN
Harry
Cedric opened his front door. “I know why you’re here.”
“Oh yeah? Why?” Harry asked.
“Same as always. You need a sounding board. Come on in.” He left the door wide and wandered toward the kitchen. “If you want coffee, make it yourself.”
“I’m trying to cut back.”
Cedric snorted. Harry didn’t have to see his best friend’s face to know he rolled his eyes.
“How’s Natalie?”
“Good. Listen—”
“Grace?”
“Fine. They’re both fine. That’s not—”
“Dead girl’s parents?”
“I’m not discussing an open investigation.”
“I know.” Cedric zipped his lips shut and flung the equally imaginary key away. “What did her parents have to say?”
“Mia Dixon had a date around the time she was found. They didn’t know much of anything about him since she lived by herself. Hell, they didn’t even know she was missing until they were informed of her death.”
“Daaamn. Somehow that seems worse.”
“They didn’t know this guy’s name or anything.”
“What about her friends?”
“Got Rudy on that now, but I don’t expect much. I have a suspect. Guy that works for Mikey.”
Cedric widened his eyes and whistled. “That shop sure attracts the crazies.”
“You ain’t kidding.”
“Tell Mikey about it?”
“No. He’d just fire him and then I couldn’t keep my eye on the asshole.”
“How long ago was that Mia killed now?”
“Three weeks—you forgot, didn’t you?”
Cedric glanced at this refrigerator where he kept his appointment notices and a calendar of events. An invitation to Brayden’s birthday party was stuck under a magnet of a woman in a hula skirt that read “Hawaii” in white letters.
“You asked me to pick you up for Brayden’s party.”
“Oh yeah. That’s tonight?” Cedric limped to the refrigerator and read the card. “Shit, I knew there was a reason I bathed and dressed today.”
“Let’s go.”
“Are they having food or should we stop someplace first?”
“Yes.”
“It isn’t no greasy pizza is it? I can’t handle that anymore.” He rubbed his gut.
“Nope. Good food. Didn’t you read the invite just now?”
“I’ve never been to Cocoa’s before.”
The roads had iced over since this morning’s thaw. Harry’s repaired Buick Century fishtailed on the turn out of Cedric’s subdivision. His friend held onto the oh-shit bar by his head.
“You said you have a suspect in the Mia Dixon murder?”
“Alibi checked out but…”
“Seemed untrustworthy. Why?”
“Waitress at Hector’s says he came over and they had sex. She couldn’t say the exact time he left.”
“Yeah, but it seems hard to believe he’d leave after oiling his dipstick and go kill someone. If anything, he’d be chill. I don’t know about you, but I pass the fuck out after sex.”
Harry busted out laughing. “Must be Superman.”
They arrived at the restaurant and pulled up to the valet. Normally Harry would park his own car. The exception occurred tonight, as mid-February didn’t agree with him. Right as he and Cedric left the warmth of
the car, a stiff, cold breeze tunneled up the back of Harry’s jacket. His eyes burned in the air.
Inside Cocoa, he and Cedric headed down a hallway off the front entrance area to a private room. Natalie had come earlier and helped set up for the party. The large room had a bar along one wall and ten eight-top tables. Several kids Brayden’s age huddled around the birthday boy and his cell phone. A few people he assumed were their parents mingled with one another and Mikey.
Grace saw Harry and waved. She came over. “Hi, Dad, Cedric. Thanks for coming.”
Harry handed her an envelope for Brayden and kissed his daughter’s cheek. Cedric hugged Grace.
“Drinks?” Cedric asked her.
“Yeah, cash bar.”
He beelined, or rather beelimped, leaning on his cane more than usual, over to the bar. He planted his ass on a stool.
“Dad, you can hang your coat on the hooks over there?” Grace pointed to the wall near the arched doorway to the room. Harry wrestled with his coat, swearing about having to have worn it in the first place. “Damn winter…fucking thick ass jacket,” he grumbled.
“My, you’re in a pleasant mood,” Natalie said behind him.
Harry mumbled and pivoted. She smirked. Over her shoulder he glimpsed Grace embracing Cam Blackwell. What the…? He ground his molars. Natalie moved into his field of view.
“Harry before you go nuts, he’s a nice guy. You might like him if you—”
“What? Give him a chance? He ran my daughter off the road.”
“There was no evidence of that, you said so yourself.”
“Just because I can’t prove it, doesn’t make it untrue.” Harry stomped over to Cam and tapped him of the shoulder, Natalie tight on his heels.
The asshole turned around. Grace gave Harry a don’t-make-a-scene look.
“Hi, Detective Hunter.”
“Don’t call me that,” Harry snapped.
Cam raised his palms in surrender. “Hey, I meant no disrespect. What exactly do you object to? Detective or Hunter?”
“Both.”
“Duly noted. What should I call you then?”
