Get to Me

by Lara Van Hulzen

  As the words left her mouth, she winced. Attractive. Sheesh. She’d used the same stupid word Dane had used to describe Torie. She didn’t want to be boring. She wanted to be exciting, funny, mysterious. And damn it, beautiful too. Was that too much to ask?

  She dared a peek at Dane. Goodness. What was it about this guy? Every time she was with him she found herself pouring her heart and thoughts out, sounding pathetic and desperate.

  “Sorry. I talk WAY too much.” She chugged more of her drink, wishing it were a magic potion that not only erased her words but Dane’s memory of her ever speaking them.

  He finished off his drink in one large, manly gulp then set his glass on the table. He shook his head. “Believe me when I say that men find you attractive.” He leaned in close, his lips almost touching her ear. His five o’clock shadow barely grazed her cheek and his cologne did funny things to her senses as he said, “And you are a beautiful, intriguing, puzzle of a woman, Aimee Jansenn.”

  He placed a whisper of a kiss on her cheek then was gone.

  Aimee’s mouth hung open as she watched him walk away, tipping his hat to Torie as she passed him, heading back to the table. The door of the club opened and he disappeared into the night.

  Torie looked from the door to Aimee. “Everything okay?”

  “I guess. I don’t know. He just…left.” She placed a hand to her cheek and thought of telling Torie what Dane had said but decided against it. Unlike their public kiss at the wedding, this moment was just between the two of them, and Aimee wanted to keep it that way.

  ***

  Dane walked to his silver Ford F-150 Raptor. Frugal by nature, it was the only thing he’d ever splurged on for himself. He climbed in behind the steering wheel and stared at the side of the building. The door to the club swung open, the bass of the music pounding for a moment then fading when the door swung shut. Two couples laughed and talked as they walked to their cars. One couple held hands while the other had their arms around each other.

  He shook his head. He’d had that once. Heck, his friends kept saying he could have it again. Aimee’s face popped into his mind. He rubbed his eyes as if that could clear away the image of her. Every time he was with her, something in his heart flickered that hadn’t in years—hope. But when she talked about wanting attention, it was like a bucket of cold water splashed on his face. A reminder of all he’d trusted before. How he’d thrown caution to the wind and didn’t plan on doing it again.

  Taking a deep breath, he started his truck and pulled away from the club—away from her and all the crazy things she did to his rational thought. He thought driving away would make him feel better, but the farther away he got, the worse he felt. It didn’t matter. He needed to keep driving.

  ***

  Aimee watched Torie spin around the dance floor again with what had to be her twentieth partner of the night, or at least it felt that way. She finished off her drink and glanced at the door. A hot bath and a good romance novel were about all she desired at this point. Reading about someone else’s happily ever after was easier than thinking about whether or not she would ever get one of her own. She looked around the club, a small part of her hoping Dane had come back. He’d left so abruptly, she was still processing it. What had she said to make him take off? Wracking her brain trying to remember, she had no clue what had gone wrong.

  She sighed heavily.

  “Okay, okay. I know what that means.” Torie had made her way back to the table in time to catch Aimee wallowing in her own pity. “You want to go. Let me just run to the ladies’ room and I’ll meet you at the car.” She tossed Aimee her keys and turned away.

  Aimee tucked the keys in her pocket, grabbed her purse, and headed for the exit. Torie didn’t have to tell her twice. She was outta there, the cool night air a welcome reprieve from the stuffiness of the club. She took a deep breath in and let it out.

  Muffled voices from around the corner caught her attention. Intrigued, she walked softly toward the sound. She poked her head around the brick building in time to see a man pushing a bag of something—drugs? —away from another man. Aimee gripped the side of the building, the soft pads of her fingertips burning from rubbing against the harsh brick.

  The first man practically spat in the other guy’s face, “You’re gonna be sorry.” He slammed the guy against the building, pulled a large knife, and drove it into the man’s gut.

  Aimee gasped. The attacker whipped his head around. His eyes bore into her. The lines in his face showed years of hardship and brutality although he couldn’t have been more than forty years old.

  He turned and ran. The other man’s body slumped to the ground.

  Aimee ran toward the wounded man, her heart pounding in her chest. She knelt beside him, unsure of what to do. Setting her purse on the ground, she peeled off her coat and tucked it under his head.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered, attempting to soothe him. A silly thought, really, since he was unconscious. His shirt was soaked in blood. “It’s okay,” she kept saying, maybe more to convince herself than him.

  She looked back toward the club then at the man. Placing her fingers on his neck, she checked for a pulse. “Good. Still ticking. Stay here. I’m gonna go get help.”

  She patted his chest and sprinted for the club. “Torie. Torie. Torie. I need to find Torie. She’ll know what to do.”

  Hands shaking, she opened the door and entered the club. Her head swam from the noise. The stuffy air made it tough for her to take deep breaths to calm down. She scanned the room looking for Torie’s blond head above the others, but she was nowhere to be found.

  “Breathe, Jansenn. Just breathe. You’ll find her.” She said a quick prayer for the man outside. Prayed she’d find help for him in time.

  She made her way through the crowd towards the bathroom. Six women stood against the wall, waiting.

  “Excuse me. Excuse me.” Aimee tried to politely get past them to the bathroom door.

  “Hey! There’s a line!” one woman shouted.

  Aimee held up her hands. “I know! I’m sorry. I’m just looking for my friend.” She looked at her hands, and a wave of nausea hit her. Blood. There was blood on her hands. Tucking them behind her, she barreled through the bathroom door shouting for Torie. Ignoring the strange looks from the women at the sinks, she peeked under each stall, looking for Torie’s boots.

  “Torie!”

  “I don’t think your friend is in here, honey.” A woman wadded up a paper towel and tossed it in the trash can.

  The thought of washing her hands ran through Aimee’s mind, but she didn’t have time. She had to find Torie.

  Leaving the bathroom she worked her way back towards the table they’d been sitting at, but a new group of people now occupied it. No Torie.

  “Ugh! Where is she?” Maybe she’d gone outside to her truck.

  Turning, she ran smack dab into Torie, causing them both to bobble backwards.

  “What the heck is wrong?” Torie caught her with strong arms and held her. “Aimee, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

  “I saw two men fighting, and one stabbed the other.” Her breath was ragged.

  “Okay. Okay. Take a deep breath.” She looked down. “Aimee, there’s blood on your shirt.”

  Aimee’s stomach churned. “It’s on my hands, too.” She held them up for Torie to see. It was dried and dark against her pale skin.

  Torie took hold her of hands. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Okay. One tried to pass a bag of something to the other, but he wouldn’t take it. I guess it must’ve been drugs, I don’t know.” Aimee shook her head. Torie guided her to a chair. “Then the guy stabbed him and ran so I tried to help the guy.” She looked up at Torie. “He’s out there now and needs help!”

  “Stay right here.” Torie had turned on her cop voice. All steel and business. “Don’t move.”

  “I won’t,” Aimee managed.

  The pulse of the music hammered against a headache that was formin
g right behind Aimee’s eyeballs. She wanted to rub her eyes, but thought of the blood and folded them in her lap instead.

  Torie came back into the club and headed toward her.

  “Sorry, hon, but I didn’t see anyone.”

  “What?” Aimee’s shrill tone pierced over the loud music. “There was a guy lying on the ground bleeding to death!”

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you. There’s a ton of blood on the ground, and I found this.” She held out Aimee’s jacket, now streaked with blood. She took Aimee by the elbow and helped her up.

  “What about my purse?”

  Torie shook her head. “I didn’t see your purse. Did you leave it out there?”

  Aimee nodded. Tears pricked her eyelids then fell.

  “Let’s go home and get you calmed down. I already called it in. Police are on their way. Did you get a good enough look at either guy to remember what they looked like?”

  “Yes. The guy with the knife stared right at me. That’s when I ran.”

  “Good. Maybe you can describe him well enough for us to run his stats through the system.”

  “I can do more than that, Torie. I’m a sketch artist remember? I can draw you a picture of him.”

  Chapter 4

  Feeling a bit more relaxed than when he’d left the club, Dane tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to Florida Georgia Line singing about how they do things round here. The city lights bounced off his windshield. As much as he loved San Diego and his job, he missed the country. Missed the open space, riding horses through the woods, the smell of pine filling his senses. Helping his dad and his brother bale hay and fix fences was a much better workout than the gym at the police station. There was nothing like working hard to maintain something you love while the sun beats down on your back. And horse manure aside, the smell while working on his parents’ ranch was ten times better than the humid gym full of sweaty cops. He’d grown up a country boy, and that’s all he’d ever be.

  He pulled into the alley behind the duplex where he lived and cut the engine. He usually parked in the alley, away from Gladys’s bedroom window. She was the super-sweet old lady next door, and he tried to make sure his truck didn’t wake her when he came home at crazy hours.

  He entered his kitchen through the back door and tossed his keys, cell phone, and wallet on the counter. It wasn’t an enormous place, and that suited Dane just fine. It was just him anyway, and he was hardly home. The kitchen was simple with a small table in the corner and a coffeepot on the counter. A creature of habit, he sat every morning and read the paper and drank his breakfast—black—little bit of sugar, no fuss.

  He hung his Stetson on the hat rack inside the front door and plopped down in his recliner. Stereotypical, yes, but he was a man, after all. He never understood why women turned up their noses at recliners. They were simple, sturdy, practical pieces of furniture. All things Dane appreciated. Being damned comfortable didn’t hurt either.

  He’d just propped his feet up on the footrest when his cell phone went off.

  “Ugh. Great timing, as always.”

  It wasn’t his night to be on call, so it couldn’t be work. Curious as to who would call at this late hour, he put the footrest back down and headed for his phone in the kitchen. The caller ID said it was his buddy, Lance, down at the station.

  “Scott here,” he answered.

  “Hey, Dane. I know you’re off tonight so I’m sorry to bother you, but Tess’s sister just came in with her roommate. Another officer, apparently. A rather nice-looking officer, I must say.”

  “Lance. Focus.” Dane rubbed his eyes. He could see now what Aimee meant by men always paying attention to Torie. Although he couldn’t understand it himself if Aimee was anywhere in the vicinity. His eyes wandered to Aimee of their own volition. His thoughts too. Geez, he’d just told Lance to focus. He needed to take his own advice.

  “Yeah. Right. Anyway,” Lance continued, “I guess Aimee saw something go down outside a country nightclub, most likely involving a drug deal and possible homicide and says she can identify the guy.”

  The hair on the back of Dane’s neck stood on end at the thought of Aimee in harm’s way.

  “I know she’s Ben’s sister-in-law and that you two know each other. She looks a little rattled. I just thought you might want to know. I don’t want to bug Ben on his honeymoon.”

  “No, no. I’m glad you called. I’ll be right there.”

  Dane snagged his keys and wallet and headed to his truck, thanking God Aimee merely saw something go down as opposed to getting caught in the crossfire. His blood ran cold at the thought. He turned up the heat in his truck and headed for the police station.

  ***

  Aimee sat in a chair at the side of a desk. At such a late hour, things at the precinct were pretty quiet. Only a few officers were at their desks, the hum of the place a slight buzz as opposed to the roar it could be during the day. She’d never worked for this precinct before doing sketches. Most of the time she was called to where Torie worked, although she knew this precinct since Ben worked there. And Dane.

  Her hands gripped her jacket balled up in her lap. Torie had helped her wash the blood off her hands when they’d arrived at the station, but her jacket wasn’t so lucky. Seeing the dark blood stains against the light camel color turned her stomach. She prayed the man was alright, wherever he was.

  She looked down at her watch. The minute hand was a paintbrush, the hour hand a long, thin paint palette against a background of a modern work of art. A gift from her parents when she’d graduated college. It was late. Super late. Way past her bedtime, and certainly past her bath-and-romance-novel time. She rubbed her eyes. Torie left a while ago to talk to another cop and find her a sketchpad and pencil. Where the heck were they?

  She closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck. What a freaking, long night. Next time Torie tried to talk her into a night on the town, she was going to say a solid, “No thank you.”

  “Long night, huh?”

  Her pulse raced and she stopped rubbing her neck. Eyes popping open, she stared at the familiar cowboy boots. She looked up, her vision skimming long, jean-clad legs and a rock-hard torso she’d been pressed against not long ago. Her gaze continued upward to blue eyes and a traffic-stopping face that matched the sexy voice she’d recognize anywhere.

  Thirty minutes ago she hadn’t cared if her makeup was messed or her hair all frizzy. But now she was sure she looked like a clown. Could this night get any worse? She buried her face in her hands. Dane squatted down on his haunches so he was eye level with her and gently pulled her hands away from her face.

  “Hey. It’s gonna be okay.”

  Eyes the color of a summer sky looked at her, filled with compassion and concern. His large, capable hands now held hers, every nerve ending in her body tingling from his touch. One side of her brain said to pull away, the other said to stay forever wrapped in safety and warmth. Her mental debate was cut short when he reached up and gently tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She wanted to set her cheek in his open hand, but instead covered her tearstained face once again.

  She peeked through her fingers. He pulled a chair over and spun it around, straddling it with his arms across the back. “You wanna talk about it?”

  Grateful for the space to breathe again, Aimee ran her hands through her hair, a rat’s nest at this point, and sighed.

  “Torie and I were getting ready to leave the club and she ran to the ladies’ room. I headed to the car…”

  “Alone?” Dane cut in.

  “Yes. Alone.”

  “That’s not smart, Aimee. You should’ve waited for Torie.” His brow furrowed and his shoulders tensed.

  “Okay, down boy. I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself.” She took a deep breath and continued. “Anyway, I left the club and heard people arguing. I looked around the side of the building and saw two guys fighting over a bag of stuff – could’ve been drugs. Who knows? One guy slammed the other into the
building and stabbed him.”

  Dane’s steady gaze caused her to shift in her seat.

  “And you saw the one doing the stabbing?”

  “Yeah. He looked right at me.”

  Dane’s eyes went stone cold. “So, he saw you as well?”

  “Yeesss…. Why does that matter?” She shrugged. “It’s not like he knows me or anything. After I ran back in the club, Torie checked outside but no one was there—no body or anything.”

  “Did you call 9-1-1?”

  She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I should’ve, I guess. I panicked. My first thought was to find Torie. I figured she was right there and would know what to do.”

  As if on cue, Torie walked up to them, followed by an officer in uniform.

  “Hey, Dane.” Torie was in full-on cop mode now. Impressive, since she was still dressed in skinny jeans and high-heeled cowgirl boots. She didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see Dane sitting there with Aimee. Come to think of it, Aimee hadn’t thought about that either, until now. What was Dane doing here?

  Before she got a chance to ask, Torie said, “Did you get a chance to make the calls about your credit cards?”

  Aimee nodded.

  “What calls? What are you talking about?”

  Torie looked at Aimee and answered Dane. “Aimee dropped her purse outside the club. When I went to check things out, it was gone. I wanted her to make sure she canceled all her cards, etc. Just in case this thug tried to use them.”

  Aimee saw Dane’s jaw tighten and he and Torie exchanged a look.

  “I saw that! What? What is it?” Aimee pointed to Dane and then Torie. “You two just spoke some sort of cop language with your eyes.”

  Torie smiled. “Cop language?”

  “Don’t act like you don’t know. You two are thinking the same thing and you’re not telling me what it is.”

  Dane gave Torie a cautious look. Torie sighed.