Rick

by Peggy Jaeger

  He stared down at her through half opened eyes. “If you’re not the one making or reheating, then it doesn’t really matter which I do, does it?”

  She couldn’t argue with his logic. With a quick kiss to his cheek, she said, “Okay. But whatever you do, I want wine.”

  ****

  “So tell me what you and Phoebe discovered,” she said, setting her fork down after finishing the penne alla vodka Rick reheated.

  He refilled her wine glass. “We got it narrowed down to four cases that look promising. All fit the parameters I set.”

  “What were the cases?”

  “Every one of them was an enforced child or children removal from the home. Two involved habitual drug-using parents, two domestic abuse cases. But in every case, the kids were taken, put in foster care, and the parents incarcerated.”

  “Four seems pretty low, in the scheme of things.”

  “Yeah, well, one of these situations is more than enough. I hate cases like this. I just…hate them.”

  Something darkened in his eyes and lingered. He’d said it with a touch of anger, but a dose of sadness, too. As if… “Rick?”

  He blinked and stared across the table at her.

  “I lost you for a second.”

  “Sorry.” He shook his head.

  “Remember the conversation we had about opening up and sharing things between friends?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Something tells me there’s a reason you don’t like child removal cases.”

  “Who does?”

  She waited a beat, holding his stare. “A personal reason.”

  When he didn’t say anything she knew she’d been right.

  “Rick?”

  He shook his head, then took their empty dishes to the sink. Moonlight followed her new best friend and wound herself around his ankles while he filled the sink.

  Taking a move from his playbook, she came into the kitchen and reached around him to turn the faucet off. When she slipped her hands around his waist, knotting them across his flat-as-a-plank abs, and pressed against his back, Rick fisted his hands on the counter.

  “Tell me.” She kissed the notch between his shoulder blades. “Friend.”

  His quiet laugh bounced against her cheek. He turned and pulled her into his arms, saying, “You’re dogged, that’s for sure.”

  “Goes with being a lawyer.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Okay. Friend.”

  She smiled against his shirt.

  “My parents weren’t the most…stable people. My old man drank himself into a stupor most nights. On the nights he didn’t pass out, he’d…start up. First on my mom, then me.”

  Abby stiffened. “And by start up you mean…?”

  He let out a breath. Slowly. “Nothing was ever good enough for him, done the way he wanted it done. If my mom made meatloaf, he wanted steak. If she bought milk, he’d want cream for his coffee. Sometimes yelling wasn’t enough.”

  Abby pulled back and stared up at him. “Rick. He didn’t…?”

  He swiped the hair back from her face, cradled her cheeks in his hands. “He did. More than once he used his fists on her. Then me. I got in his way too many times, trying to protect my mom. He had hands like ham hocks. I got good at running, though, usually straight to Josh’s house since he lived across the street. His house became a refuge. His parents tried to help. His mom talked to my mom about leaving. About divorcing my dad. She wouldn’t. To this day I don’t know why she stayed with him.”

  “You told me your mom is gone.”

  He nodded.

  “Gone…how?”

  The soft rubbing motion of his fingers on her lower back was soothing, but she didn’t even think he knew he was doing it. His eyes had a faraway, sad glaze to them now.

  “She…died. When I was ten.” Pain was palpable in his deep voice.

  “I’m so, so sorry.”

  He shifted his gaze to her face, rubbed a finger across her cheek. “It was a long time ago. A lifetime ago.” He took another breath, his eyes focused on hers. “They had a fight. A whopper. The cops came. Again. They actually knew my folks by name, they’d been called to the house so many times. Somehow, I don’t know how, he had a gun.”

  “Oh, Jesus. Please don’t tell me he shot her?”

  “I don’t know for sure. I’ll never know for sure. The cops who arrested him said they didn’t think he was going to. He was holding her around the neck. She was struggling to get away. The gun—well, you hear it all the time and think ‘that can’t be right,’ but my father swore it just went off. Hit her in the thigh, and the bullet severed an artery. She died before they got her to the hospital.”

  “You weren’t there, were you? You didn’t see it happen?”

  “No. As soon as he started screaming, I ran to Josh’s house. His mother wouldn’t let me go back. Children’s Services came to take me into custody. Debra wouldn’t let them. She wouldn’t even let them in the house. Told the social worker to come back with the police if that’s what she had to do, but she wasn’t going to turn me over. I don’t know how she managed it, but until the day I turned eighteen and enlisted, I lived with them.”

  Tears wet her cheeks. She hadn’t even realized she was crying. Hugging Rick, she buried her face against his shoulder and squeezed.

  “I was lucky,” Rick said. “I had the Keanes. Most kids in that situation have no one.” He pulled back and swiped his fingers across her cheeks. “So, yeah, Abby. I hate child removal cases because the kids are always the ones who are hurt the most.”

  She could picture him, even as a child, standing up for his mother, trying to keep her safe. It explained a great deal about the man he was. The warrior. The defender. He’d fought for his country to protect innocent people, just as he’d tried to protect his mother.

  Abby was beginning to understand the real man behind the cocky, arrogant demeanor. And she was in serious danger of losing her heart completely.

  Hell…it was already lost.

  “Before my father bolted,” she said, “my parents would fight all the time. Screaming matches. Horrible words tossed back and forth. I used to hide in the bathroom with Gemma and the younger ones because the yelling was so scary.” She pulled back and stared up at him. “But he never hit her. Or any of us. He was a serial cheater, and it finally got to be too much for Mom.”

  “Psychological and emotional abuse hurts just as much as physical and does more damage in the long run. Broken bones and wounds heal with time. Words and actions stick around in your head forever.”

  Abby sniffed, and nodded. “Mom gave him an ultimatum. His girlfriends or his family. He didn’t choose us. When he left, he took the only means of financial support we had. Mom had never worked, didn’t know how to balance a checkbook, couldn’t figure out how to pay the bills. Seven girls was a lot for one woman with no skills or education to take care of. If Children’s Services had known about us, I’m sure they would have intervened and taken us away. Luckily, Grandma and Grandpa took us all in.”

  “So we both got lucky. I had the Keanes. You had your grandparents.”

  “And thank God for them. Mom went out and got two full-time jobs during the week—one at night, one during the day—and a part time one on the weekends so we’d have something to live on, to help Grandma and Grandpa.”

  “You mother never sued for child support? Or alimony? She was certainly entitled.”

  “No. As a child, I didn’t know about those things. I didn’t know a woman could leave a bad marriage or even demand money. Or was owed something, financially, legally, when a marriage dissolved, especially if there were children. She could have made him pay dearly for what he’d done but never did. I should ask her someday why she didn’t.” With a sniff, she pulled out of his arms and swiped her hands across her face. “I want wine.”

  He slipped his hands into hers and turned her back to face him. “I just realized something,” he said, bringing her hands up to kiss her knu
ckles again.

  Abby’s heart sighed a little. “What?”

  “It’s why you became a lawyer, isn’t it? Because you wanted to help women and children put in the same situation like your mother and you all were. Like Lila Genocardi.”

  Abby swallowed, the embarrassment of the dead-on assessment running through her at warp speed.

  “I became a lawyer because it seemed like a stable job with a decent income.”

  “No, you didn’t. You’re a lawyer because you want to give people a voice and power, Abby. Things your mother didn’t have.”

  She’d never thought of it that way before, not really. She’d seen her profession as a means to aid people who needed help. As a way to balance the scales for the disenfranchised. As a way to show women they weren’t less than.

  “Abigail June Victoria Laine.” His yanked her flat against him and snaked his hands around her waist. “You share your home with a three-legged cat no one else wanted, and you defend the most powerless members of society. Don’t tell me you’re in it for the money and job security, because I don’t believe you.”

  His statement simply overwhelmed her to the point she knew she was in danger of making a fool of herself with him. She needed to get them back on level ground again.

  “Fredrick Bannerman.” She tilted her head, widened her eyes, and asked, “Wait. Do you have a middle name?”

  He laughed. “No.”

  Abby nodded. “Well, who knew under all your sexy arrogance was an insightful human being? You should let him out more. And don’t call me Abigail.”

  His lips curved, slowly. So slowly, her own mouth thrummed with need to press against it and kiss him senseless.

  “You called me sexy, Counselor.”

  She rolled her eyes and pushed against him to get away. She might just have well been pressing against a rooted redwood tree. “That’s your takeaway from my statement? You. Are. Such. A. Pain.”

  His smile flashed so quickly, so fully, she simply lost the little breath she had left. “And still…”

  “I really hate that I don’t know what that means.” She pouted.

  Rick laughed, the sexy sound shooing away all the sadness their conversation about their childhoods had created. He pulled her in for a tight hug and squeezed her butt. “Keep thinking about it. You’ll figure it out pretty soon.”

  He kissed her nose and let her go. Abby stooped and picked up Moonlight, whose engine-droning purring was thunderous.

  “Honestly.” Rick swiped the cat under the chin. “I really think she’s got some kind of physical ailment. Maybe a clogged vocal cord or something. Nothing so small should be able to make so much noise.”

  “She’s fine, aren’t you, baby?” She kissed the cat’s nose and walked back into the living room. Rick’s laptop was still open on the table, the two images of the male in the hoodie frozen.

  “Are we done with this?” she asked, nodding to the screen.

  “For now.”

  “You need to give this all to Kyle Donovan, you know.”

  “Let me sleep on it tonight. Decide what to do tomorrow.”

  A sudden nervousness sailed through her. Where would he be sleeping on it? They hadn’t discussed what had happened in the shower that morning. Or if it was going to happen again.

  She really wanted it to happen again. And not only in the shower.

  Abby thought he felt the same, but for some reason asking him seemed a little too brazen, too forward, too…needy.

  “Abby?”

  He was standing right in front of her.

  Jesus, for someone so big he moved liked a soundless breeze. “Hmmm?”

  “You getting ready for bed soon?”

  “Thinking about it. It’s getting late, and I’ve got a court appearance in the morning.” She smiled. “It’s for a gotcha.”

  “A what?”

  “An adoption. It’s what the parents call the day the adoption is finalized.”

  “As in, I gotcha? You’re mine?”

  “Yup. It’s one of my favorite things about being a lawyer.”

  He took a step closer. She tilted her head back a little, the noisy cat still cradled in her arms. If she were a betting woman, she might think the gleam in his gorgeous dark chocolate eyes was expectation. Hope. Maybe even a little lust.

  “I’ve been thinking.” Rick ran a finger under the cat’s chin again, his gaze staying locked with hers. “Wondering, actually.”

  “About what?”

  Another half step closer and his chest grazed against her folded, cat-laden forearms. He reached up and swiped a stray hair back behind her ear. To Abby, the innocent graze of his finger against her cheek was like being shocked by a live electrical wire. A shudder slid down her spine.

  “Today’s underwear choice.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “Do your bra and panties match?”

  “What?”

  Ignoring her raised voice, he kept going. “If so, what color are they? Your dress today was a deep purpley-blue that turned your eyes the color of sapphires. I was just wondering if you had the same color underneath it. Or maybe something darker, like black. Or even…nude.”

  For a lawyer, the fact she was speechless was an unnatural and unreal sensation.

  Rick lifted the cat from her arms and set her down on the couch. Moonlight flicked her tail in annoyance, turned her back to them, and curled herself into a ball of fur.

  Once both their hands were free, Rick slid one around the back of her neck, the other to the base of her spine. Then, he lined up their lower bodies, with his pelvis flattened against hers.

  Well, flattened as much as someone with a throbbing, building erection could.

  “You gonna answer my question? Set my mind at ease and tell me what you’re wearing next to your beautiful, soft skin? Inquiring minds want to know.”

  Abby took a moment to think. While he waited, she licked her bottom lip, shot her gaze from his eyes to his mouth and then back up again. With her tongue tucked against the inside of her cheek, she said, “You know, I’ve always been a big fan of…show, not tell.”

  Before the grin could scrape across his face, she stretched up and joined her mouth to his.

  It didn’t matter they’d eaten a full meal a little while ago. The hunger burning through both of them was voracious. They quite simply consumed one another.

  In less time than it took to form the thought to move to the bedroom, Rick scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” She laughed, face planting against the middle of his back as her hands squeezed his shoulders for purchase.

  He dropped her down on the bed, then covered her body, twisting his hips to force her thighs apart, and settled in the space between them.

  “I’m showing you what I want.” He slid his hands up under her T-shirt, bent, and trailed his tongue along the skin he’d exposed. “Remember, I’m a big believer in show, not tell, too.”

  “Oh, sweet Lord!”

  He licked her clear up to the front clasp of her bra. “Blue,” he said, grinning up at her like the Devil himself.

  “You really are good at that,” she said a moment later when his teeth and mouth once again undid her bra. “Oh!”

  “You have the most delicious nipples.” He pulled one into his mouth, bit down gently, then moved to the other. Abby writhed and twisted under him, but his weight kept her centered.

  “Now. Let’s see if those panties match.” His skimmed his nose down her torso, hooked two fingers under the waistband of her sweats and tugged them down. “That’s my girl. Perfectly color coordinated.”

  The last coherent thought she had was she was never going to wear mismatched underwear again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The judge’s chamber was filled to capacity with smiling adults and a very cranky set of six-month-old twin girls.

  “These two are going to be a handful,” Judge Ramos said with a laugh. “They remind me of the lungs
on my own twins. You’re gonna need some earplugs,” he told the adoptive parents.

  “It’s beautiful music to us,” the new father said, smiling down at the fussy infant in his arms.

  “They make almost as much noise as your cat,” Rick said softly into Abby’s ear.

  Over her shoulder, she slanted him a speaking glance. “Behave.”

  His cocky grin had her stomach doing backflips, something she was getting used to whenever he looked at her.

  “Miss Laine, we want a picture with you,” the adoptive mother called from across the room.

  “I’ll hold your briefcase. Go smile pretty.”

  Cell phones and cameras were pointed at the parents, each with a crying baby in their arms. Abby stood next to the mom, the judge next to the father.

  “I’ll be expecting copies,” she said, receiving a warm hug from each parent before leaving.

  Once they were in the courthouse hallway, Abby reached for her briefcase. Rick held on to it.

  “Really? I can carry my own bag, you know.”

  His response was to look down his nose at her.

  “Let me guess,” she said, folding her arms across her chest and cocking her head at him. “You were the type of boy who carried his girlfriend’s books when you were in middle school, weren’t you?”

  “It was high school,” he told her, placing a hand at her back to get her walking.

  “And critics say chivalry has died a terrible death.” She couldn’t keep the laughter out of her voice. “They obviously hadn’t met you when that statement was made.”

  “Chivalry had nothing to do with it.” He pushed open the courthouse double doors, letting her go first. “Carrying books was just one of the ways I used to score points.”

  “Oh, my God.” She stopped dead in her tracks. “Tell me that isn’t true. You did not do nice things so girls would let you”—she glanced around furtively and lowered her voice—“in their pants.”

  His lips twitched. “More like cop a well-placed feel or two.”

  Abby shook her head, torn between laughter and giving him the stink eye. “You were exactly the type of boy my grandmother always warned me against.”