by Diana Stone
I’m cold and hungry. It’s after 4 AM and tomorrow morning is rapidly approaching. What day is it? Damn, I have to work today. I stink of cigar and cigarette smoke. I guess I’ll shower and wash my hair. Maybe it will revive me, or relax me enough to stop stressing over the 12-plus hours in the casino. Later, I’ll figure out what I earned.
* * *
I slid through the past two days on autopilot. The good news is I slept soundly without waking in the middle-of-the-night and pondering over my life.
I documented the casino experience on my laptop and sent it to Alyssa on a Word doc. That’s how the private eyes do it on TV. They gave me $1000 up front, and some spending money. I charged them another $1200 for the extra hours, the racked up slot machine losses, and the elevator scare.
Now I know how to play the slots. While watching the high roller room, I chat with the older ladies sitting next to me. They had some good wins and insisted that a new player often wins big the first time out. I won some. I didn’t win big—but I was at work. If I were on my own dime, I wonder if I would. Someone said you have to bet big to win big. If I’m only playing penny slots, it’s a big win to get $50. So if I’m playing $6 slots, then with the same percentage, my actual dollars would be really nice!
During this fiasco have lost my desire to look for Heather. It’s sticking my neck out to find her. Right now she isn’t after me, she’s been doing things to Monica. I’ve adjusted my thinking after the scare with the goons—now I want to be invisible and lie low.
It’s Friday night. I made it through the week. I’m free for two whole days! Nikki said she’d lead the rides this weekend. She said it’s repayment for the times I had to take up the slack when she couldn’t.
I’m sitting at the picnic table outside the barn—resting my chin in my hands. The sun has just dipped below the horizon. The final flash of purple and orange makes me glad to be here. It has a melancholy feeling. It’s so pretty, I wish I had someone to share it with.
The day turns to early evening; the crickets wake up, an owl hoots, and I sigh.
I take a sip of my latest wine concoction. I poured half a glass of a nice Cabernet, then top it with Moscato. Oh my, I just discovered how to make homemade Port. I don’t have to spend $20 a bottle if I create my own. The flavor of the Cab is thickened and sweetened by the crazy-sweet Moscato.
After half the mix, I feel better. I know I’m not really better, but I feel better. That’s the benefit of alcohol.
“I waited until you put the glass down,” he says.
“Aghh!” I jump from my seat.
He slips onto the bench next to where I had been.
“Freddie! How the hell do you do that?” He hadn’t made a sound.
“Sorry.”
“No you aren’t. Where is your car?”
“I walked.”
“The driveway is almost half a mile long. Why would you walk—just to sneak up on me?”
“It’s good to be unexpected—don’t you think?”
“It works well for you.” He saved our hides several times, being unexpected.
He reaches up and takes my hand, tugging me back down. I notice his touch. He hasn’t done that before. My eyes flash to his. He knows what he’s doing. This wasn’t an accident. He’s too cool and calculating for accidents.
I sit and think back over our times together. He is a different person from what he had been in Lompoc working for the drug dealers. Now he is mature and intense. It’s like he was acting young and dumb back then. Why?
“You’re crinkling your eyebrows. You’ll get squint lines if you keep doing that,” he advises.
“Yeah, probably, but not for a while.”
“Why the consternation?”
Huh?
“How do you know words like that? You used to be the Lord of the Lompoc drug dealers. You were wild and free—and I didn’t get the feeling you knew that kind of English.”
He smiles and shrugs. “Maybe getting shot did something to my vocabulary?”
“Right—like getting hit by lightning opens up another part of your brain?” I scoff.
“Exactly.”
“No, that doesn’t work for me.” I stare directly into his eyes.
We’re almost at eye level. He’s only a little taller than me. I’m 5’9”, so maybe he’s 5’11”. I’m used to men who are heavily muscled, and well over 6-feet. But there’s a way he carries himself that makes him seem bigger—and he certainly sneaks around with ease.
“You’re thinking, but not speaking,” he prompts.
What I’m thinking is he intrigues the hell out of me. What I say is, “Why are you here?” I’m afraid of showing my hand because I don’t know his motive.
“I’m here to let you know I’m back in town. And I want to know what you were doing at Chumash Casino for 12 hours.”
“I’m glad you were tracking me, but it would have been nice if you’d been there. I was watching a man who is cheating on his wife. I got pictures, but then it went south. Apparently he owes someone a bundle of money and has two goons after him.”
He sighs and asks in a soft tone, “Jess, what are you doing?”
“Nothing!” I hear my defensive tone. “I returned a lost necklace to a rider in Santa Barbara. They told me their friend’s husband was flying to Chumash. They asked if I’d go there and see what I could find. So I went and took a few photos. Then I kept following them to see which room they were in. That’s when the men in suits came. I thought it was security coming to throw me out for taking photos. Nope, I guess not. They told the guy that Mr. C wants his money in three days.”
“I’m glad you’re alive. I don’t have any contacts in the gambling underworld,” he sounds relieved.
“On a good note, I made $2200 for the night.” I try to lighten the story without really feeling it.
“Do you need the money?”
“Well, it’s always good to have extra. I never know when my horse is going to have a high vet bill. And I like to invest in tech stocks for retirement.
“Sometimes you do dumb things.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“No Jess, I have training. You’re just an innocent,” he softly explains.
“Well, if I could carry my gun I would be a lot less innocent.”
“Did you ever get that .45? Or are you still hiding the .38 under your pillow?”
“I don’t hide it under my pillow. Everyone knows the bad-guys use pillow cases to collect your loot. Yes, I have the new one. I just haven’t used it yet.”
“No one to practice on?” he grins.
“Not yet.”
We sit in silence. He looks over the dark pasture and back to me with a noncommittal smile.
“So, were have you been for the past week? I’m trying to find Heather so I can get her arrested and out of our lives.” I see the way he’s about to jump in, “No, don’t say it. I know she’ll bail out. You think I should let her do whatever she has in mind, and just wait around like a victim?” I snap.
“I’m watching her,” he quietly replies.
“You need to elaborate more. It doesn’t fly with me. She disappeared after the wedding, and so did you. I have no way of contacting you. How do you expect me to feel about that?” I lecture.
“I understand.”
“No you don’t. I have some ability to take care of myself, but I’d like to enjoy my life, and not keep looking over my shoulder.”
“What would make you feel better?” he asks. That’s a clever sales technique, instead of telling me lots of things he can do. I might only request one thing—saving him from doing a lot more.
“Jeez, you’re pushing me.”
“Whaaat?” he acts innocent.
“You show up unannounced, and you sometimes help me. Sometimes I’d like you around, and sometimes I’d really like you around. You leaving me feeling I can’t trust you because I don’t know anything about you. Who are you?” I pause and repeat, “Who are you?”
I keep quiet. It’s his turn. I won’t let him change the subject. I stare into his chocolate-brown eyes. He’s kind of delicious. Shut up, brain. Just wait for his answer.
He swallows. “I work for...”
After a long pause, “Yes?” I encourage.
“Some people who want justice.”
“That’s a start. I worked for people who wanted justice too.” Let him think it was Tony’s wife. It was also the LAPD.
“I’m not at liberty to tell you. It could get both of us in hot water if you say something.”
“I understand. But you have to know, I don’t blab, nor am I only a woman who leads trail rides in the wine country. I used to have another life.”
I feel like telling him about the police, but it usually scares men off. They don’t like strong women. I’ve lost count of how many first dates never led to a second one. I learned, so I wait to mention it until after the second date. That still sent the owner of a walnut orchard running, shortly after he told me he likes police officers.
Here goes. If he’s really a drug dealer, I’d better not be sitting next to him. I stand up and move to the other side of the table.
“I was on the police department for a while.” That’s really vague.
He looks surprised. “Doing what?”
“Police work.”
“Go on.”
“No, it’s your turn.”
“No Jess, it’s still yours. What kind of police work?” He’s looking across the table, directly at me.
“What do you think of police officers?” I evade the answer.
“I find them useful for maintaining control in society. They are all individuals, just like everyone else. You sometimes get a bad nut in the bowl, but on the whole, they’re a good bunch of men.”
“And a good bunch of women.” I glare at him.
He silently assimilates.
His face crinkles up, “You?”
“Don’t squint, it will give you wrinkles.” I reply dryly.
His eyes flick around, like his mind is replaying our history. “I think you’re strong; you don’t fall apart, but you’re not hard enough to be a cop.”
“I played my part well. I may be tall and blonde, but I don’t have to be a big guy, with a brown mustache to believe in justice.”
“Fine, let’s say you were in law enforcement of some kind…”
“I told you something, now you tell me.” I’m not getting sidetracked.
“I too, work for people who want justice.”
“That’s not giving me much.”
“I don’t want to get myself killed. Please understand, it’s not that I don’t trust you.”
“Are you a mercenary?” Yuck.
“What? No,” he laughs an honest laugh, and his eyes don’t flick to the deceitful right.
“Will you tell me your real name?” I softly ask.
“Come over here,” he waves me back to his side of the table.
I hesitate.
“Sweetie, do you think the table is going to protect you?” he quietly asks.
I sigh, “No, I guess not.” I walk around and sit in my original place.
He slides over and takes my hands in his strong ones. I know with his holding mine, he doesn’t plan on strangling me.
“My name is Quinn,” he says, truthfully.
“OH! That’s a nice name!”
“You don’t know how I hated to hear you call me Freddie, or Harold.”
“I will keep your secret, but do you have ID to prove it?” The old me is coming out.
“No.” I can see him close up.
I think he told me the truth. His whole way-of-being changed when he told me his name, and again when he reacted to my request for identification.
I keep calm and don’t push for more. “My name is Jessica Wilcox, I’m a former Los Angeles Police officer. I worked patrol on the streets of Hollywood for 5 years, arresting nasty people, and trying to right wrongs. Then I married an insurance man and worked with him in business until he cheated on me with his secretary. I came up here to lead trail rides and find out what I wanted to do with my life. That’s who I am.”
He’s silent for a few minutes. He’s holding my hand, stroking his thumb across the back. I give him a little space by not staring at him. I’m looking over the dark pasture to the west. It feels like he’s struggling with himself. If I push, he may retreat—so I keep quiet and wait.
“Quinn Morrow. Son of a woman from Lompoc, and a fighter pilot she met at an air show. Former gang member. Former Army Special Forces. Never been to prison—contrary to what you may have heard. Now working for the good guys.” He reveals himself in bullet points.
“Quinn. I like your name.” I like it a lot...
“I can see that,” he gently squeezes my hand.
“It’s so much nicer than Freddie or Harold! Not that those names aren’t nice, but yours has something impressive to go with your story.”
“It’s my real story. I only told you because of who you are. It explains a few things for both of us.”
“So are you going to stay around, or run off somewhere for a week, or more?” Or forever?
“I’ll be here for a couple of weeks. My mom likes to see me, so I make sure to visit when I’m in town.”
“You’re okay with my law enforcement background? I only say that because you can’t believe how many men run when I mention it. Or, they think they can handle it, but they can’t handle my independence (Jack), or the fact that I took a life in self-defense (Eric).
“You’re fun and quirky, soft and beautiful, and I like your independence.” He stops. “Now I know what you meant by saying you really like law enforcement. Along those lines, what about that deputy who has the hots for you?”
Since he’s bringing that up, I assume he’s interested. I certainly am. He’s been intriguing me for months. Now I know he’s with us it changes everything.
“Deputy Ken is busy with his ill father. Anyway, the main thing is, he’s not giving up his other woman. I refused to sleep with him a second time until we developed our relationship more. I wanted to get to know him better. He thinks he can get to know me through sex.”
“I’d like to get to know you through sex, too.” He shrugs, “It’s a guy-thing.”
“The strange thing is, I feel I’ve gotten to know you over these months. Even though I didn’t know your real name, and who you really were, I saw parts of the deeper you.”
“Are you saying you’ll waive the requirements you gave your deputy?” He smiles hopefully.
“Yeah… I am.”
He leans in, ever so slowly, and cradles the back of my head with his hand. He doesn’t pull me to him, which would make me bolt. He comes to me. What a nice meeting. Hell, yeah!
His lips encourage my response. In turn, my response stirs him.
It compounds, unabated until I briefly come up for air. “Would you like to find somewhere more private?”
“How much more private do you want? It’s completely dark, there’s no moon, and Nikki is away for the evening.”
“You know she’s away without being told?” I jokingly hiss.
“Yeah, I do.”
“I like it,” I admit.
Under my shirt, he gently runs his fingers down my back. My skin responds, my whole body responds. “I guess this is private enough, after all.”
* * *
It’s interesting how my chronological method of getting to know a guy before sleeping with him just evaporated. I won’t over-think this. I’m not worrying about another woman, or any woman he may have. I’m living for the moment—and it feels right. This is different somehow. Sorry, Deputy Ken. I changed the rules.
Much later, I revive myself. It’s getting chilly out here on the picnic table.
I need to phrase this without scaring him off. “Would you like to come to the house?”
He rolls toward me, touching his lips to m
y ear, “Yes, I would,” he whispers.
Hallelujah.
14
The Day After
In some movies, after an amazing night, the girl wakes up alone.
The sky is beginning to lighten. But before I open my eyes I know he’s still here. The weight in the middle of the bed, and his body heat tells me so. Yup, he’s right here, on his back, with his hands crossed under his head.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he rolls over to look at me.
“Hi.” I’m thinking about reaching out and touching his chest. I don’t, because it feels presumptuous. But then, considering he’s in my bed, I think it’s okay.
So I do. Wow, really wow. He’s defined, solid and warm. If I’m not careful, I’ll fall hard for this one. Last night I ignored my rule of first getting to know him. I may have to repair my heart, but in the meantime, I’ll enjoy him while I have him.
“I’m getting a nice view, too,” he raises an eyebrow while looking under the sheet.
By reaching my arm out, it allows him to see straight down to my waist. I swallow a touch of embarrassment and decide to change my destiny. I’ll follow my desire and won’t hold back. He said he likes my strength, and he didn’t run for the hills when I told him I was an officer.
What I’m thinking about doing is pushing him to his back and straddling him. He wouldn’t expect it, and it will be fun to see how he likes a strong woman. What the hell… I go for it.
I put my hand on his shoulder expecting to push him back.
Except he doesn’t roll over like I thought. In fact, he doesn’t move. His morning-after dreamy expression changes from open, to slammed-shut. Oh no, he thinks I’m pushing him away.
I have to fix it, fast!
I launch myself on top. We’re so close to the edge of the bed, I have to shove my foot to the floor to keep from falling over. “Don’t think you can escape that fast.” I smile and lean down to kiss him.
Thank heavens he’s a quick thinker. If he can change his plan of attack in combat, he should be able to in bed.
