When my eyes fell upon the sixth man, I felt a zing of electricity shoot through me, almost like my body had been asleep and was waking up. Pins and needles. It was there and then, just as quickly, it dissipated. I looked over at Dillard and he was stone-like. I turned back to the sixth suspect and my eyes took in everything about him. He was tall, bigger than the other men he was standing next to, and his eyes we trained on a spot on the floor. Again, I looked at Dillard.
“Can you ask Number Six to stand up straight?” I was surprised that my voice came out as calm and strong as it had.
Dillard walked to a button on the wall, pushed it, and spoke into a speaker just above it.
“Number Six, step forward, hands at your side, stand up tall, and look straight ahead.” The button made a crackling noise when he released it and I watched as the man bit his lip, took a few steps forward, and stood up straight. It seemed as though he looked straight at me, but his eyes never met with mine. He was looking into a void.
I took another step towards the glass, narrowing my eyes at him. Suddenly, I saw a flash of the man in the dark hoodie. The hooded man was looking at the ground, it was dark, but then he raised his head to look at me, and I watched the shadow move over his face. The first part of his face I saw was his chin. It was prominent with a dimple in the middle.
Just like Man Number Six.
In my mind, the image of the man in the hoodie became clearer and as the shadow moved up, more of his face became visible. His nose—crooked. His eyes—light. His hairline—a widow’s peak.
Just like Man Number Six.
“That’s him,” I said firmly, with conviction. “Number six.” I looked over at Dillard and he gave me no indication as to whether or not I was right.
“Have you looked at all the suspects?” He asked as he leaned casually against the wall.
I turned back to the wall of men, the last two men were nothing like the man in my memory. I looked back to Dillard. “That’s him. None of the others match the man in my mind. That’s him. I know it.”
“Ok,” he said, taking my elbow and leading me out of the room.
“Wait, ok? That’s all you’re going to say? Was that Jason Ramie? Did I pick the right one?” I knew I had; I just wanted to hear it from him. He didn’t say anything, just led me back to the room where Porter waited. I walked in and rushed to him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. His face burrowed into my neck and I heard him take in a deep breath. After a moment he pulled away and framed my face with his hands.
“Are you ok?” He looked panicked.
“Hey,” I said, trying to get him to focus on my eyes. “I’m fine, Porter. I’m ok.” I felt a smile pull across my face and it was the most brilliant smile. I could feel it spreading throughout my entire body. Happiness. Joy. For once in the last year I wasn’t fearful. Something snapped back into place within me, something about being in the room and facing the biggest fear I’d ever had was invigorating. “I did it,” I whispered through my enormous smile. “I found him.” Porter’s eyes grew wide and he frantically looked around for Dillard.
“Was he in there? Did she ID him?”
“Why don’t you both take a seat,” Dillard said, motioning towards our abandoned chairs.
“Fuck sitting, Dillard. Tell us what happened.” The detective looked like he was trying to decide whether he was going to let Porter talk to him that way, but slowly a smile spread across his face.
“She did beautifully. She positively identified Jason Ramie. He’s being taken into custody as we speak and will be charged with attempted aggrevated murder.”
Even though I knew I’d picked him out, I couldn’t help the surprised gasp that left me. My hand captured the breathy cry that left my mouth and I turned to Porter. He looked just as shocked as I felt.
“You did?”
I shrugged. “I remembered.”
“Of course you did,” he said, pulling me into him again, kissing my forehead. “What happens next?” His question was directed at Dillard, but his eyes stayed on me.
“Well, like I said, he’ll be formally charged and in a couple of days he’ll have a bail hearing and then he’ll enter a plea.”
“A bail hearing? He could get out on bail?”
“Unlikely. Usually in murder cases like this the bail is set very high and I can’t imagine the boy has money like that laying around.”
Boy? He didn’t look like a boy to me. He was big and burly. He might have been young, but he was no boy.
“But there’s a chance?”
“A slim one.”
“Still . . .” Porter continued.
“Hey, it’s ok. Everything is going to be ok,” I said, trying to soothe him. Porter looked back to me and I saw a little smile pull at his lips.
“Well, this is a pleasant turn of the tides. Ok,” he brushed the back of his hand down my cheek. “If you’re sure you’re ok, I’ll let it go for now.”
“I’m fine. He’s locked up tonight. I remembered.”
“You did fantastic,” he said gently.
“She really did,” Dillard interjected. “I was worried at first that the whole thing would overwhelm her, but she was methodical and thoughtful. She made her way down the line and she grew more confident as she went along. If it weren’t a shitty situation, I would say it was a pleasure to work with her.”
Porter looked at me with so much pride it made my heart swell in my chest, and I felt some of the walls I had built around it shatter and fall to pieces.
“So, we’re free to go?”
“Definitely. I will call you to let you know when the bail hearing is, just in case you want to be there. And you should definitely call your lawyer.”
“Thank you, Detective,” Porter said, shaking the man’s hand.
“No problem. You did great, Mrs. Masters,” he said as I shook his hand. I smiled up at him.
“Thanks for being patient with me and thank you for catching him.”
Chad waited at the entrance of the police station and when we approached, he looked to Porter for instructions.
“Chad, thank you for waiting. I’m sure you want to get home. I’ll contact you in the morning.”
“I don’t mind. Do you want me to follow you and Ella home?”
Porter looked at me and smiled. “No, they’ve caught the man who shot Ella. I think we’re going to drive home alone tonight.”
“That’s wonderful news, Sir. Ma’am, I’m happy to hear he’s been caught. Have a good evening.” With that Chad walked away and Porter and I were alone, in the evening, not in our house, for the first time in weeks. It shouldn’t have felt foreign, but it did. To just be the two of us was a novelty. I leaned into him and heard him breathe in a content breath.
“Let’s go home,” he said into my hair, making me smile.
“That sounds fantastic,” I said into his chest. When we pulled up to our house, there was no police cruiser parked down the street and I reveled in the feeling of safeness I felt in that moment. Perhaps we were going to be ok.
My nerves spiked as Porter drove us down the gravel driveway that would lead us to our house. In the past weeks, I knew the house was getting closer to being complete, but Porter had many warnings of insulation and paint fumes and kept me off the property. I trusted him to build us an incredible house, so I wasn’t nervous about being kept out of the loop on decisions. Hell, if we could have just transplanted the beach house right here on our twenty acres on the outskirts of Salem, I would have. But if Porter could build a house that beautiful on his own, he didn’t need me meddling in the process.
So I let him design, build, and construct our house, only offering opinions when asked. Houses were his forte so I intended to let him shine. I knew I’d love whatever he conjured up and that notion extended to every aspect of our life. However, when his truck pulled around the bend in the road and our house came into view, there was nothing in my imagination that could have prepared me for the beauty of the structure.
“You like it?”
My head snapped to the side to look at him.
“Like it? Porter, it’s incredible!”
“Ok, well, this is just the outside. I hope you like the inside too.”
My eyes took in the massive structure. Obviously, I had seen the house in its unfinished form, but not for a month or two. The driveway was circular and led up to the front of the house. There was a side road that led to the back of the house where I knew there was a three-car garage. The house was two stories tall and boasted tall arched accents with exposed beams. The wooden beams stood out against the warm yellow paint and cool-colored stonework that encased the bottom of the house.
The front door was wooden and matched the beams in color, a nearly red chestnut, and small path lights led you from the driveway right to the magnificent door.
Porter parked his truck and came around to open the door for me, lending me his hand, knowing full well that my equilibrium was off-kilter with the big, protruding baby belly I was now sporting. He helped me from the truck, but didn’t release my hand, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over my knuckles as we walked towards the house.
“It’s so beautiful, Porter. I can’t believe we get to live here.”
“It’s ready to go, all finished, we could move in tomorrow if we wanted.”
“Really?” My excitement was palpable. This would be our first real home together and I couldn’t wait to start the new chapter of our lives.
When we reached the front door he opened it but stopped me before I could go in. I laughed and yelped as he bent down and picked me up, one arm under my knees, the other behind my shoulders, carrying me over the threshold. When he put me down, all I could do was gawk at the gorgeous house. It reminded me a lot of the beach house with its open floor plan, but it was different still, newer and a little more modern. Where the beach house felt much like a beach house, this structure had more of a country feel.
The front door opened into an entryway with a built-in hall tree that I wanted to run my hands over. I could tell from looking at them that Porter had built them. He pulled me by the hand through the hallway and we entered into one great big room that was the living room, family room, and kitchen all combined into one.
Between the kitchen and the family room was a big island that had a tall counter that served as a breakfast bar. All the cabinets were the same wood that the beams outside were made of and the chestnut color was warm and comfortable. The kitchen boasted stainless steel appliances and I itched to cook in this kitchen.
“This is so incredible.” I spun around slowly, trying to take it all in. “And so big.”
“It’ll shrink down a little once we get some furniture in here. Come on,” he said, tugging on my hand, leading me up the stairs, “I’ve got something to show you.”
He led me slowly up the stairs, letting me take my time and admire his work. When we got to the master bedroom, he slowly pushed the door open and let me walk in first.
Of course Porter had something planned; he always had something planned. My heart lurched when I saw the picnic he’d prepared for us and my thoughts immediately went rushing back to all the romantic picnics he’d planned: the first one on the beach, the picnic we had while hiking Multnomah Falls, the picnic on the floor of Dahlia before it had opened when he proposed. Porter gave good picnic.
“Babe, this looks wonderful,” I said, my eyes sweeping through the room. Our room boasted a large gas fireplace and a cozy fire was lit, casting a romantic firelight over the room. On the floor there were blankets spread out with an abundance of pillows. A picnic basket sat in the middle of the blanket, along with an ice bucket with a bottle of sparkling cider and two champagne flutes.
“I made sure there were enough pillows because I know sitting on the floor won’t be comfortable for long, and that’s apple cider in there, not champagne.”
I giggled because he sounded nervous. I had never really seen Porter nervous before. Anxious, yes. Angry and protective, yes. But never really nervous. I found it to be terribly endearing.
“It looks incredible, Porter. You’re too sweet.”
“I just always want you to remember our first meal in our new home.”
All I could do was nod in response, my lower lip being worried in between my teeth, trying to keep my eyes from watering. How did I manage to find him? How in the world did I ever manage to live before him? I tried to shake away the feelings as he placed a soft kiss on my forehead. I looked up at him and smiled.
“You’re amazing, you know that?”
He shrugged. “Just trying to take care of my baby momma.” He led me over to the stack of blankets and helped me sit which, in reality, turned more into a lean because there weren’t enough blankets in the world to make my ass comfortable on a hardwood floor. But I found a comfortable spot and relaxed, taking in the view of the fireplace and the sun setting outside of the French doors that led to our room’s balcony.
“We’ll have to get some nice chairs to put out there so we can enjoy the sunset when it’s warm.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said as he poured me some cider.
We talked throughout the meal, making plans for the house, decorating ideas, plans for the yard and the property. Somehow I had talked him into getting some animals. Nothing too crazy, maybe just some chickens and a goat. What was the point in having all this property if we weren’t going to use it? He laughed at my logic and just made me promise I’d wait for at least a year before obtaining any animals.
The food was delicious and simple. He’d brought strawberries and pretzels with hummus, and I smiled when he brought out the celery sticks with peanut butter because I’d been craving those every night for nearly three weeks. He was a smart man.
“I didn’t give my mom enough notice for cheesecake, but I did get these brownies at a bakery in town.”
“Shut. Up.” I said, nearly drooling over the brownies he hadn’t even managed to unwrap yet. What was it about chocolate and pregnancy? For just one split second I had an image in my mind of wrapping a soft, warm brownie around a stalk of celery with peanut butter on it. It sounded like the most delicious thing on earth, but I knew in the back of my mind that anyone not growing a person in their belly would think it weird. So I kept my craving to myself, vowing to try it one day while Porter was at work. When he finally handed me a brownie, it was just as warm and soft as I had imagined it to be and I couldn’t help the overtly sexual moan that escaped my lips as I chewed.
I heard Porter startle, choke and cough, having inhaled a piece of his brownie. “Damn, Ella,” he said between sips of cider, trying to clear his throat. “You can’t make noises like that right now.”
“Why not? This brownie is absolutely orgasmic.”
“Because it’s not fair. No respectable man would have sex with his six month pregnant wife in a house with no furniture, and when you moan like that it makes it impossible for me to think about anything besides, well, that.”
“Sex?” I asked with a smile.
“Listen, what I’m imagining doing to you is more than just sex.”
I swallowed loudly. “Oh.”
“Yeah. So cool it with the moaning.”
“Well, why don’t we bring some of these brownies home with us later and then we can both get what we want.”
His eyes grew dark and he leaned in towards me slowly. “And what is it that you want, Mrs. Masters?”
I closed the distance between us, placing my lips right over his. “I want more brownies, but this time I want them . . .” I pressed my lips into his, kissing him slowly, but firmly. I pulled away just enough to look in his eyes. “With milk.”
It took him just a few seconds to take in my words, but eventually he threw his head back and laughter filled the room. His laughter quieted although he continued to chuckle as he started cleaning up our picnic. “I can provide you with milk,”
he said, still laughing.
“Are we headed home?” I asked as I finished folding the last of the blankets, piling them up against the wall.
“I’ve got one more thing I want to show you,” he said, plopping some pillows down on the mound of blankets. He took my hand and interlaced our fingers, leading me out of the room and down the hallway. He stopped at a door just a few down from ours which I knew, based on the blueprints and plans we made, was to be the nursery. He gave me a shy smile and then opened the door.
Surprise was the first emotion I felt when I saw the room, but surprise soon morphed into overwhelming love and appreciation for the man standing beside me. I looked at him, again with tears brimming my eyes. I stepped farther in the room, both my hands coming to cover my mouth, trying to hold in the cries I knew were coming.
The walls were painted to look like a sky, only not the sky you’d see from the ground, it was as if you were sitting on clouds. White, cotton ball-looking clouds lined the entire room, ending at about waist height, giving way to a deep dark blue sky, complete with metallic stars painted in all different sizes all over the room. The most impressive part, however, was the ceiling. I looked up to see thousands of tiny lights shining down and twinkling. Some lights were bigger and brighter than others, making it look absolutely realistic.
“Porter how did you do this?”
“Well, I commissioned a local artist to come and paint the clouds and stars, and then the guys and I installed these fiber optic lights in the ceiling. It was pretty fun actually. We got to be a little creative and actually try to make it look like a starry sky. Plus I figured it would make a pretty good nightlight for the baby. There’s a dimmer on the wall and you can make the stars as bright as you want.”
“It’s so beautiful,” I said, wiping my eyes.
“You’re not mad?”
“Mad?” I asked, turning to him with a shocked expression on my face. “Why in the world would I be mad?”
Never Giving Up (Never #3) Page 11
