by Brynne Asher
“I’m good,” I announce to the room, hobbling to the bathroom. Once I get there and look in the mirror, I let out a little scream for the second morning in a row.
Jude looks in with a concerned face. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, shit. I didn’t think it was possible, but I look worse than yesterday.” The bump on my temple has started to deflate, but the bruising is worse than ever—dark and ugly—stretching out over my brow onto my eyelid.
I hear Aunt Emma yell from the other room. “Not to worry, Gabby. We brought you clean clothes, your face wash and moisturizer. We figured you’d want to wait until you got home to shower, you’ll feel like a new person. And we brought your car, Gino said Jude was taking you home and since we obviously couldn’t bring his car, we brought yours.”
Lizzie continues, just as loudly. “Mia’s with Sophia and the kids today. We didn’t know when you’d be home, but we’ll get her back for you. And we cleaned your house last night, you won’t have to worry about that for a while and went to the store for you. Oh, and you should be good on dinners, too. We stocked up your freezer. You’re good to go.”
I look at Jude who’s still leaning into the bathroom. I shake my head as he grins and I yell back, “Thanks.” He leans the rest of the way, gives me a peck on the lips, reaches for the door and closes it.
Thinking that this is as by myself as I’m going to get for a while, I take my time, get my business taken care of, and slowly move back to the bed to get ready to make a statement to the police. I let my aunts fuss over me, because they are good at it and I secretively like it, while making a silent decision to let Jude take care of me. And if I’m honest with myself, it’s the easiest decision I’ve made in a long time.
Later, after giving my statement to the detective, Jude took me home and I was surprised that he’d somehow arranged for the glass company to come a day early to fix my door so I could move back into my bedroom. It was sweet, thoughtful, and I wonder if he had to be bossy with the glass people to get it done early.
Oh well.
I took a long hot shower, got into my pajamas because I’ve learned it hurts like hell to change my clothes. Jude and I ate the dinner my aunts prepared, it included meat so Jude shouldn’t waste away to nothing in the next twenty-four hours. Mia returned home attacking me, complaining she’d been abandoned and lying to me about not receiving enough attention from Lanny, Sophia, and their kids.
Now it’s late and I’m tired. I ask Jude, “You’re not going to wake me up every hour and ask me what my name is, are you?”
He has me tucked into his side on the sofa and leans down, kisses my good temple and grins. “No, babe. Tonight, you can sleep. You should go to bed—I’ll be there in a minute.”
“You’ll be in?” I ask, a bit surprised.
Turning to me fully, he leans in close and rasps sweetly, “Gabby, your room was broken into. Do you think I’m going to let you sleep in there by yourself?”
Not knowing whether or not to be shocked or relieved, I do manage a small smile. I was secretly hoping he’d sleep with me anyway. It’s not like I can romp around with my bruised ribs and dull aching head, but it will be nice to cuddle up next to him. I slowly get up and go through my getting ready for bed routine, way slower than normal. I hear Jude letting Mia out and moving around my house. Carefully as I can, I climb up into my tall king size bed and move to my pillow, trying to get comfortable. When Jude walks in, I turn to look at him. He leans down picks up Mia and puts her on the bed, before leaning down to kiss my forehead.
“Are you good?” he asks softly.
I nod and he looks into my eyes. Then he moves to my bathroom and I hear him going through his routine before he returns. He yanks his shirt over his head and I get another good look at his winged tattoo. He pulls his socks off, then his hands go to his buttons on his jeans and before I know it, he’s down to his boxers again, but this time climbing into my big bed beside me.
“Did you take your pain pill?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He moves closer, fitting himself to me. I roll to my good and snuggle against his warm chest.
“Your stool softener?” he asks with mirth as he pulls me close, and I can tell from his voice, he’s grinning.
“Don’t piss me off or embarrass me, Jude, I’m tired,” I say at the same time I scoot my bottom back into his lap as carefully as I can without hurting my ribs. Not wanting to rest his hand on my torso, probably for fear of hurting me, he places it on the side of my lower hip and bottom and gives me a squeeze.
“All right, Gabby. I don’t want to piss you off,” he kisses the back of my head. “Your pink room is hot, sugar, but I like this bed better.”
“I didn’t take you for a pink kind of guy, Jude, but as a decorator, that’s good to know.”
“Yeah, I especially liked the stuffed animals.” He teases. Back to bossy he keeps on, “Go to sleep. You need to rest and heal.” I feel his lips below my ear on my neck where he kisses me softly. His lips return to my ear and he whispers, “I don’t like that you’re so fragile.”
I don’t need an interpreter to catch his meaning and that makes me shiver.
“Jude?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me about your tattoo”
“They’re my wings, Gabby. I was a pilot in the Air Force.”
“You were in the Air Force?” .
“I went through the Academy and then Fighter Pilot Training.”
“Really?” I do my best to try to turn around to look at him.
He looks down at me and smiles while kissing me quick. “Yeah, really.”
“What did you fly?”
“F-16’s.”
“Wow.” I move back to fit myself into his chest again, tucking my ass into his lap as tight as I can. Resting his hand on my bottom again, we settle in. “How long have you worked for the FBI?”
“About four years. I was hired right after I left the Force.”
“Huh. How long have you lived here?” All of a sudden, I need to know all I can about Jude Ortiz.
“Almost a year. I’ll tell you more later, go to sleep.”
“All right.” I yawn. “Thank you for being here with me, Jude.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he whispers into my hair.
And with that, I close my eyes, lean back farther into Jude, and fall asleep.
Chapter Ten
Let’s See How Easy It Can Be
“How many times do I have to answer this question, man? I don’t know where he is. I saw him Thursday, he said it was getting too hot for him and he skipped town. I’ve told you everything I know, now when do we talk about my deal?”
“You’ll get your fucking deal when you lead us to Harper. Now, where in the hell would he go to feel safe? And where is he getting money to finance his fucking vacation?” I ask, standing across the desk from one of Harper’s mid-level managers we apprehended.
Last night was a late night but a good one. We put one hell of a dent in Harper’s organization. Now it’s Tuesday, mid-morning. We have five mid to high level couriers and managers that work for Harper in custody. Three of them have flipped—crying like babies—spilling information about Harper and his gun smuggling business, as well as some pretty good information on high level cartel sources. The other two haven’t said a word, but they’re lower on the chain, look scared as hell and I’m pretty sure they fear retribution will be taken on their families if they talk, which is common in these organizations. Harper, in addition to his right-hand man, is still at large and the three that are talking are corroborating one another’s stories. Harper’s from Michigan, we know his family has a lake house in Traverse City, we have the local FBI and ATF there looking into it, but I swear the man has disappeared into thin air. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.
“Man, Trevor has cash stashed everywhere. He could live forever on the lam with the money he’s got.”
“Where else would he go? Whe
re are his safe houses, other properties or favorite spots?” I ask, leaning down with my hands on the table, glaring at the jackass in front of me. I’m pretty sure the well has run dry. We’ve gotten the same intel from each of them. I’d be surprised at this point if they had any idea of Harper’s whereabouts.
“You know all of his properties, I don’t know if he owns anything else.”
I push myself off the table and cross my arms and look back at the jailer standing at the door. “Take him back.”
“Hey, what about my deal?”
“You’ll get a deal when I get Harper, how’s that for a deal. You gave me nothing I don’t already know.” The jailer tags him by the bicep, his wrists cuffed behind his back.
“Fuck you, pig! You said I’d get a deal,” he yells over his shoulder as he’s being pulled out of the interrogation room.
“You gotta give me Harper.” I shake my head and watch him leave. Then I look to Mac who’s leaning against the wall. “He’s fucking disappeared.”
“Looks like it. And we’ve got nothing from his wife’s phones. Harper hasn’t contacted her again. Does Megan Harper know Gabby was attacked?”
I shake my head. “I’ve told Gabby not to talk to Megan, but I can’t help what her friends do and they’re one pissed off group of women. They love Gabby, I think Megan might get kicked out of the club if she supports her husband after what happened. I’ve only overheard conversations when they’ve come to visit and it does not sound good. I just hope Gabby’s friends don’t carry guns, too, they might be tempted to hunt down Harper themselves.”
This is no exaggeration. Reagan threatened homicide multiple times while bouncing a baby on her hip and Lilly said she was going to cut his balls off and shove them up his ass. It was an entertaining show, that’s for sure.
Mac smirks. “How’s she doin?”
“Better every day. I’ll be glad when the bruising is completely gone. I won’t have that constant reminder thrown in my face every time I look at her that I didn’t do enough. Every once in a while, she still winces from moving too fast or stretching the wrong way. The bruises on her ribs’ll take longer to go away, but her temple is almost back to normal. Her headaches are gone and she only has to take meds for her ribs every once in a while. But she’s driving me fucking insane complaining about having to stay home or having someone with her all the time. We’ve gotta find Harper or I’m gonna have to lock her up.”
Mac’s smirk turns into a grin. “I’m sure you don’t mind her driving you insane, Ortiz, nor would you mind locking her up. You can put on a front for everyone else, but I think you’d happily dance straight to the loony bin for that woman. Am I wrong?”
I narrow my eyes. As long as I’ve known him, I wouldn’t even admit this to Adam “Mac” McAlister, but he’s right. The last week and a half have been crazy and my life has been turned on its head, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
After I brought her home from the hospital Thursday, she’s had her aunts with her while I’m at work, but they’ve been told they can’t go anywhere. I spent the weekend with her, other than a few hours on Saturday when I had to come into work and Tony was put on Gabby Duty.
By Sunday she was feeling better and was sick of being in the house, so I took her to church. We grabbed a bite for lunch, then somehow, and I don’t know how in the hell it happened, she talked me into taking her shopping for carpet. All fucking afternoon. We went to three home improvement stores and four flooring showrooms. I’m pretty sure we looked at every piece of carpet in the damned city. I didn’t even know there was that much carpet to choose from. Not only that, but I watched her compare them to paint samples—multiple paint samples for multiple rooms. Then, about three and a half hours into the search, she had the magnificent idea of replacing the carpet on the stairs, as well.
“I mean, I might as well replace it now while I’m doing the basement. It’s going to be such a mess, why go through that twice, right? Hey, are you listening to me?”
In a carpet daze, I blink to focus, and she’s standing barefoot on a carpet square. “Sure, I’m listening,” I respond, monotone.
“Well, what do you think? Wow, you should come and stand on this one. It’s wool and really thick and soft. Come here,” she commands.
“What?”
“Come here, take off your shoes and socks and try it out. I really like it, this could be it.”
“I’m not taking off my shoes.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not, that’s why.”
She narrows her eyes, puts her hands on her hips. “Jude Ortiz, I know for a fact that just because you’re a big, bad federal agent who carries a gun for a living, that you do indeed take your shoes off. I mean,” she looks around and then lowers her voice. “I’ve slept with you for four nights now and know for certain that you do not sleep in those bulky boots. You take your shoes off just like the rest of the civilization and when you do, don’t you want to walk on something soft? This is the basement we’re talking about here, the winters get cold you need something cozy under your feet.”
I stand here and stare at her. She’s in a light blue sundress with thin straps over her shoulders, tight over her tits, showing a nice amount of cleavage that I’ve enjoyed all day. It hangs straight, hitting a few inches above her knees, her long legs sticking out below. She said she was feeling better this morning, was tired of looking like what she described as “shit,” so she dried her hair for fucking ever. It is now long and silky, flowing down the middle of her back. It even looks more golden than normal since it’s smooth. The blue dress makes her eyes even brighter and she put on enough makeup to cover her almost faded bruise. She’s wearing a fancy necklace and bracelet that’re a mix of silver and pearls stranded together with silver matching earrings. Her pink high heeled sandals have been kicked to the side where she’s glaring at me from her carpet square.
Making a quick decision, I move close and put my hands low on her hips and give her a gentle yank, her hands immediately coming to my chest in surprise. “Are you telling me you think I might be around to walk barefoot on this carpet?”
I can tell I surprised her. She gives me her shocked as shit look, eyes wide and biting her lower lip.
“Well…”
Quietly, I go on. “I’m over the moon that you know I don’t sleep in my boots and I’m looking forward to experiencing your new carpet. So, if you want me around to walk barefoot in your basement, only for you, will I take my shoes off in the middle of a fucking carpet store.” She’s still just staring at me so I give her hips a little shake. “What’s it gonna be Gabby? You’ve gotta tell me if you want me around to walk on your new carpet?”
“Um, I guess. I mean—” she pulls in a big breath. “I want you around to walk on my new carpet.”
Taking a step back, I reach down and pull the tie on my boot, yank it off and toss it aside. I repeat with the other before ripping off my socks and step forward onto the small square with Gabby, pulling her into my arms. Her hands go to my biceps and she tips her head back to look at me. “Well?”
“Feels like heaven,” I say. Her eyes get big and she pulls in another breath, so I continue. “And I can’t wait to walk on it barefoot in your basement.” She exhales in relief, smiling up at me. I bend down, not wanting to pull her up too far and hurt her ribs and put my lips to her ear where I whisper, “I’m hoping other bare parts of us get to experience your new carpet too. I can’t fucking wait for that.” I pull back enough to put my mouth on hers and kiss her long but soft, standing barefoot on a carpet square in a flooring showroom.
Finally letting her mouth go, I lean up and she looks beautiful from my kiss and she announces, “I’m gonna get this one.”
“Good. Now we can go,” I say with finality.
“Wait, I need to pick out the carpet for the stairs. I think I want something different, maybe a baby berber, black or maybe even red with this camel color woven into it somehow.”
“Are
you kidding me?”
“I promise—I won’t make you stand on it.” She looks up with a small smile, scrunching her damn nose again.
“Fine,” I sigh, leaning down to kiss her quick stepping off her new carpet to put my socks and shoes back on.
Still standing barefoot, she smiles at me. “I like shopping with you Jude. Thanks for bringing me today, it’s been fun.”
“Sure, anything you want,” but as I say these words, I think back to Tony telling me she’s hard to deny and I realize this means I could be in trouble. Her smile becomes a huge grin, lighting up her face and I realize that, yes, I’m in deep trouble. As I smile back, I say with a warning, “But I’m not taking you shopping every Sunday, Gabby.”
Still grinning big, almost like she doesn’t believe me, she chirps out way too happily, “Okay.”
Forcing my mind back from carpet shopping, I gather my shit from my desk as I’m anxious to get back to Gabby. It’s been one hell of a long day, making our way through Harper’s organization and trying to get all the information we can get. We have FBI and ATF looking in Michigan, but I don’t feel hopeful. Harper’s too smart to head to a known property. I pull out my phone as I make my way to my truck and call Gabby.
“Hey, Jude,” she answers, her voice soft. Damn, but I miss her. I got to her last night late, she was already asleep and had to leave earlier than normal this morning to start processing all that happened last night.
“How are you feeling?”
“Really good. Emma went to the store again for me today and I’m making dinner.” She hesitates. “Are, you, um, coming here?”
Shit, she finds a way to ask me that every day. I’ve slept in her bed every night since she got home from the hospital, I’ve even brought some stuff to her house with extra clothes. I don’t know why she thinks she needs to ask me if I’m coming to her. Thinking I need to rectify that and soon, I say, “Gabby, where in the hell do you think I’m gonna go tonight?”
