“Let him cap their wrinkled asses and free up space for us normal people!”
I’ve never heard so much underage cussing in my life, but I find myself smiling nonetheless and winking at the hooting and hollering before turning to Liddy.
“I’ll take it into consideration. Now, here’s some stuff I printed out for your English classes. Some exam prep notes. If you can get all these done, I’ll look through it and see where you need help, though I highly doubt it with that brain of yours.”
“Thanks, Miss Ducaine. And thanks for the drinks and food earlier. I know how we’re not supposed to eat in here, but some of us really appreciated it.”
She’s gone without another word, and I feel my smile slip thinking about some of these poor kids and their circumstances. Their parents are either poor, not interested, or just plain useless where they’re concerned, and most of the “upstanding” citizens refuse to give them jobs, even if all they want is a chance to feed themselves and their younger siblings.
I hate this place, I really do sometimes.
The afternoon drags after that. It’s not that I don’t enjoy seeing Jordi ace the quiz that I made for him, or have another dark and brooding stare-off with Ben, or a discussion about no gum under the tables.
It’s just that I’m feeling slightly depressed about myself. I’m complaining about my life when some of these kids—yes kids, even if they are almost adults and most of them bigger than me—have it worse.
At least I have a good home and food with no threat of living without power. Once the last kid has left and I’ve managed to head off Mrs. Baker, who always tries to shuffle in just before five and sit down to read—one time I was here till seven trying to politely let her know that it was way past closing time—before tidying everything and locking up.
My drive isn’t long, but I take my time, not wanting to get home yet and face the dark house and the thoughts I know won’t give me peace much longer.
Why Ginger? Why do you always have to do this to me? I was just fine not two days ago with life, enjoying some of the things I do, like helping the old ladies knit blankets for the kindergarten group’s naptime.
Now I feel as if every single thing that has kept me busy for the last few years is just a waste of time, and I don’t know how to feel about wasting what life I’ve been living.
Oh, calm down and stop being such a Debbie Downer already. So what if it’s not all action adventure and torrid love scenes? That doesn’t make it all worthless!
Yeah, that’s right. I have a great life.
Although when my phone rings just as I’m pulling into the drive way and I see Marshall’s name flash across the screen, I can’t help my uncharitable thoughts or the way my nose scrunches.
Darn it.
For once, I don’t answer, forcing my fists to clench and sitting stiffly until the ringing stops. Usually I’d feel bad about ignoring anyone. I don’t know why I just have that tragic urge to be a people pleaser, but tonight I do not have it in me to listen to him ramble for an hour about his accounting job and the latest church gossip.
I also cannot safely promise that I will be kind if he starts lecturing me about that mother of his. As soon as I feel like I can move without returning his call, I open the door and pull the back door open, collecting some work that I’m doing for the shelter in the city. I’m just about halfway to my front door, convincing myself that a sensible cup of tea with supper is better than the glass of wine I want, when I hear something loud and feel a divot of grass just beside my left foot shoot up into the air.
This is one of those surreal moments, a sliver of time where I freeze and everything slows down. I feel like I’m moving through thick water as I slowly look down, turn toward the street and look up.
Another boom shatters the silence, this one so loud I almost miss the sting in my cheek as something wings so close to my face I feel a burn.
Dear Lord. Is someone shooting at me? I can’t rightly process that ridiculous thought, not as my brain starts going in a hundred directions and I feel myself go stone stiff.
I must look comical; I know I feel comical, as I turn, so slowly my mind starts screaming at me and try to run. My front yard is sadly lacking in cover, and the door…
Just as another boom blasts, what feels like a tree hits me from behind, the weight knocking the breath out of me as I crash to the ground face first and everything starts speeding up all at once.
It’s like being in slow motion and then all of a sudden having your fast-forward button stomped on. My body, my breath, every muscle in me starts clamoring all at once, and I feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin when I start screaming and go to cover my ears.
Someone must really not like those cherry pies I made for the bake sale. The shots come in a rapid succession, hitting the house, the door, my windows, which sound like screaming groans as they shatter and fly every which way.
Through it all, all I can do is scream and cover my ears, my cheek burning where it’s mashed to the grass beneath me.
“Shhh, I got it. It’s okay, Peaches.”
That soft grunt in my left ear has me stilling, and I don’t know how or why. Dammit, he’s not even supposed to be here! But I feel myself calm instantly.
It feels like hours that this goes on, then I hear the screech of tires and Jericho curse before he’s gone, running into the darkness like some sort of avenging angel.
“Well now, that was not good,” I chatter to myself when I can move and shakily roll to a seated position.
I should be hysterical now, and I know it. Trust me, with the way my adrenalin is pumping, I feel like…like doing something. But I am in shock I think, and my traitorous body just seems to want to remain frozen in place while my mind works frantically to figure out just what the hell happened here.
I can’t fathom it. Who would shoot at me?
Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve fallen asleep at your desk and Mrs. Baker will no doubt be sitting in the easy chair across the way pretending to read so she doesn’t have to be around for her grandkids’ bath time.
Go on now Cleo, wake up.
“Ow!”
The pinch I give myself makes me very aware of the fact that I am indeed awake, so yeah, that just happened. The only reason I’ve stopped screaming, not considering the strange snake-charmer effect Jericho has on me, is that I’ve trained myself not to react emotionally.
That and that alone allows me to steady myself and breathe deeply, taking the overburden of emotion clamoring inside me and shoving it away.
I’m steady now as I rise to my knees and start collecting the scattered files and plans that I’ve been working on for the shelter. I take it slow, just as I’ve taught myself and make neat piles, all the while telling myself to dig deeper and find that center where nothing is too much or too little.
I’m just closing the last folder and preparing to rise, when Jericho comes back and falls to his knees beside me, his breathing rough as he looks me over.
“Peaches.”
“I’m completely fine,” I murmur, raising my chin. “Really, Jericho, running after a car? With a driver who is armed?”
Those eyes narrow, and I see his lips twitch before he peers at me askance.
“How are you okay?”
“You tackled me to the ground, Jericho, and saved me from a bullet. You have to ask after what you did? You could have been killed!”
My voice rises on the last bit, and I grind my teeth to stop from yelling outright. I also want to slap his face for daring to put himself in danger that way!
“You’re pissed at me for what I did, and yet you look calm as a fucking song about the fact that you were shot at! Jesus, Cleo! Do you even get that you could be dead right now?”
“Stop yelling at me, please.”
He’s ready to explode and spluttering as I gather the files to my chest and rise slowly. I need to call the police and...and…
I freak out completely as my legs buckle and du
mp me to my butt, my silent tears a shame to me as I hiccup and stare blankly at the house.
“Someone shot at me.”
“Thank Christ, you finally noticed!”
“Someone shot at me, Jericho. Why did they…sh-shoot at me?!”
I end up with my face, my throbbing, bleeding face, in his neck as I start shaking so violently I feel as if I could break apart. I have never felt anything like this before, this utter confusion and fear.
My house looks like a sieve…broken glass all over my perfect little lawn and the evidence of wood chips scattered over the little covered entryway.
“It’s okay, baby, hush now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“But, but they shot a gun at me. With bullets. They meant to…to hurt me,” I whisper, shoving closer, trying to get all the way inside that big body as the ramifications hit me belatedly.
I could be dead! I could have died on this lawn in this smug little neighborhood I despise so terribly, never having done one simple thing other than sleeping with Jericho to mark my existence.
Oh, I can just see it now. They’d all shake their heads in sympathy for Daddy and make empty comments about my kindness, maybe saying how I was always polite and helpful and never had a bad thing to say about anybody.
Would they put a plaque up somewhere lauding my knitting skills or this ugly, ugly lawn?
The sound of tires squealing halt my hysterical inner rambling, and I hear heavy footsteps before Jericho starts talking in a deep rasp to whoever has arrived.
“Blue Bronco without plates. I lost him at Appletree.”
“Jesus, this place looks like a fucking war zone. Cleo? Honey, would you let go of Evans here and let me take a look at you. I can see blood.”
Somehow, Jericho manages to pry my clinging limbs from around his neck, and I find myself lying back against his chest as Nick Storm leans over me, checking me over, and running his hands all over my numb body.
I hiss when he squeezes my knees and realize that’s the reason I couldn’t keep myself up when I tried to rise.
“Hmm, it’s swollen all to hell, and that cheek of hers might need stitches. Dammit, an inch to her left and she’d have taken it right in the face, man.”
Jericho stiffens and I feel his chest rumble darkly as his arms tighten around me. The words so filled with anger snap me out of my daze, and I look up at Nick with wide eyes.
“I’m always nice. Always! Even when I don’t want to be.”
And some idiot shot at me anyway.
You have to understand where I am coming from here. There is no apparent reason for this, nothing that I could have said or done to provoke this violence from another. I’m Mouse, the little librarian who ignores jibes and direct insults and still sits at someone’s sickbed because it’s the right thing to do.
“Aw, honey, I know. That just makes me madder. Don’t cry, don’t give whoever did this a moment’s thought or try to figure out why or who could do this. Leave that to me and Jericho.”
“I’ll fucking murder ‘em.”
“Whoa there, son. Take it easy while you’re hugging the little thing, or you’re likely to crush her. Go on now, man, get her to Lenny at my place and let King and me stay to talk to the cops.”
“I should be here,” I say vaguely, taking in the destruction with a sick sort of delight.
I guess the perfection I hate so much is gone now, huh? I didn’t even have to lose it to do something I have always wanted to do. You’re surprised? Look, I’ve forced myself to be so sedate that at times I’ve just had the overwhelming urge to go on a rampage. In my head, I’d take the hammer I keep under my pillow—just in case someone decides to burglarize me—and smash every little knickknack and glass ornament I hate dusting.
I’d go postal and just wreck it all, letting out everything I’ve kept inside on this place that is so perfect, fitting into the image I’ve strived years to perfect.
And here I am, hurt—I don’t like this part, let me tell you, as my knee starts announcing its displeasure—bleeding and I feel…free. The holes and carnage are so glorious in their decimation of the place that I feel almost as if I’ve attained a release.
I’m scared though. I still have some brain function left, thank you very much, and I am completely grateful when Jericho just snarls and rises with me clutched to his chest, ignoring my rambling assertions that I can wait for the sirens blaring in the distance.
“Tell King I want something on the bullets by morning,” Jericho directs Nick.
“Sure. If we can smuggle one out before those yahoos get here.”
Their talk ends abruptly, and I hear a car door open, expecting Jericho to put me into the passenger seat, but the man just heaves himself up behind the wheel, settles me more firmly into his lap, one arm tight around me, and peels away with enough speed to force me deeper into his chest.
As must happen, not that I would know being as I’m basically a robot normally, the adrenalin crashes and so do I. I pass out somewhere between my house and the Storm residence—safe, warm, and strangely okay now that I don’t have to think about a thing.
Chapter Five
Jericho
I’m grateful when I feel Cleo’s muscles go liquid right before she slumps into me, her little body going lax as her adrenalin crashes finally. She’s a tough little thing, I’ll give her that, but even though she made things easy on me by not freaking out completely, it just pisses me off to see her so calm and blank when inside I was raging like a forest fire.
I am more than angry, more than murderously pissed as I speed through the darkness to get to Lenny. I see again the events of just minutes ago in my mind’s eye. I was driving down her street after tailing her from the library and saw her freeze as bullets started whizzing by her….my heart is still beating like a drum just thinking about it.
I almost didn’t get to her in time. I can clearly and minutely recall throwing myself out of the truck and running like hell, so sure that I wasn’t fast enough and that one of those bullets would hit her this time.
I hurt her some tackling her to the ground, but I can’t allow myself to be angry about that, not when I felt that bullet burn across my bicep, right in the spot where Cleo’s beautiful face was a split second before.
I’m just grateful I got to her in time and that all I have to contend with at the moment is her swollen knee and the gash on her cheek that is still oozing blood.
“Oh my God, is she okay?” Lenny screams after I trudge up the porch and the door flies open.
“Len, calm down, honey. She’s fine—just banged up a little and in need of your love.”
I lay her down on the sofa as gently as I can and force myself to step back as Lenny flies at her and starts running shaking hands all over her. The knee, when Lenny flips her skirt up makes me wince and grind my molars.
It’s swollen to twice its size and so mottled I pray she didn’t break it when my weight hit her into the grass.
“Hmm, can’t be sure without an x-ray, but I think it’s just banged up and in need of an ice pack and some rest. Go on into the second guest bedroom and get my medical bag out of the closet, would you?”
I don’t want to leave, but one look from Lenny has me turning and running for the stairs. I make quick work of it and come back in to see her palpitating Cleo’s belly and nodding in satisfaction before moving on and finally getting to her cheek.
“Dammit, it does need stitches. How fucking close did those bullets get, Jericho?” she snarls, grabbing her bag and digging for gloves.
“Too close. She just froze when the first shot hit. Christ, she looked like a statue and didn’t even flinch when that one got her cheek.”
“Hmm, shock.”
“No, it was almost as if she left her body or something!” I snarl, pacing as she snaps on gloves and starts working on the gash.
“She’s a tough one… even though she seems so meek, so I wouldn’t disagree with whatever it is you think you saw, kiddo.
I may not have known Cleo for long, but I know her kind, and I will tell you that I do not like it at all. She’s too controlled and retiring for that shithead father of hers. The hell of it is that I know she’s got fire in her.”
Yeah, a fire I got to see when she was in my bed and taking me, demanding more, screaming my name and taking her due like the hellcat I see lurking there.
“This is going to leave a scar. Can’t be helped though,” Lenny says and sighs minutes later, smoothing a white bandage over her cheek.
“Fuck it. I hate that. She’s so perfect on the inside that I don’t know how she’ll take looking at it every day.”
She grunts and starts cleaning up, shoving me at the sofa and ordering me to sit and warm my girl who has started shivering in her sleep despite the heat.
“I’m getting us all a drink, light on the booze for me, of course. Do not go off on her when she comes around; she’s likely to be dazed and fragile.”
“You think that little of me?” I grunt, gently covering Cleo with the throw laying across the back of the sofa and taking her cold, little feet in my hands.
Her shoes are gone, probably lost when I threw her to the ground with so much force, and there’s grass and sod clinging to her delicate big toe.
“No, I just know you soldier boys and your caveman ways. You’re angry, I get that, but you know how to deal with those emotions after years of combat. Cleo doesn’t. She’s gonna try to push it all away and be calm like she usually is.. and that will anger you. Ignore it and just be as gentle with her as you can. Now, I’m getting you both a drink, and when I come back I want you to tell me what Storm couldn’t.”
She leaves and I lean my head back against the sofa, closing my eyes with a groan. What can I say? I sat outside the library like a nut for hours until Cleo left, and then waited a beat before following her home only to get there while some idiot was taking pot shots at her?
“Okay, here you go. Now start talking,” Lenny barks, lowering herself to the overstuffed chair across from us and sipping on what I hope is not the coffee Storm banned her from drinking.
THE WATCHERS: 6 Military Romance Bundle Page 19
