I run to the bathroom, wash my face, brush my teeth, spray some perfume on, and change my wrinkly clothes for fresh ones. Grabbing my gun holster, I give Slim a kiss on the head and lift my keys from the table.
Driving to the location Monroe texted me, I pop a handful of headache meds and chase them with an old water bottle.
I’m a wreck.
I know it.
I’ve tried to deny the feelings I have for Jace Grant, but every time I think about him, I get butterflies along with a feeling of dread. It’s a fucked-up combination, one that I’m sick of having.
My therapist told me exactly what I already know. I have a job to do and I won’t let anything mess that up, but seeing him makes it harder. He wants to go for drinks tonight. Well, I want him for more than just drinks.
I can’t get off with Malcom anymore. He shut that shit down, which is understandable. It wasn’t healthy using him. It was working, though.
When I closed my eyes, I could see Jace. I could pretend he was the one making me feel weightless, but something tells me, Jace would make me feel more than that.
He’d make me feel like I had a purpose. Like my life was worth more than what I’ve made it.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my job, but this is my life. I’ve built it that way. I’ve cast everything else to the side. Love, friendship—hell, even my family comes second. I think the reason Jace scares me so much is because I know how bad it’s going to hurt when it’s done.
I don’t reply to Jace. I ignore him for the time being, knowing I can’t handle being around him right now. My feelings for him are too strong, I’ve got to step away and reevaluate.
I pull up to the house, seeing Monroe’s already here along with a team. I climb out of my car and walk over to him.
“What’s the update?” I ask.
“You look like shit,” he says.
“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” I reply, popping a stick of gum into my mouth before grabbing my sunglasses from my shirt collar and sliding them on.
“She’s in there,” he says. “It’s been quiet, so we think he’s sleeping.”
“Let’s go get this motherfucker.”
_____________
The girl was found, the man arrested. She’d been banged up a bit, and we took her to the hospital to get checked out. He’s going to prison and there, men who are on death row will rape him.
Say what you will, but there’s a difference in evil.
There are men who’ve killed people barehanded, who’ve tortured, and committed violent crimes.
But the ones who do things to little kids—that’s a whole other level to me.
That asshole who decided to take Abby Foster from the parking lot she was in and use her for his sick pleasure will be used up in prison by those same men who have done horrendous crimes. Because even the evil men have a line they don’t cross.
After an eighteen-hour day, I shut my computer off, slide empty coffee cups into the trash, and stand up, stretching and popping my back. I exhale, looking over at Monroe, who’s already looking at me.
“Today was a good day,” he says, leaning back in his chair.
“Yeah,” I agree.
“How’s everything going with you?” he asks.
“Fine,” I reply, crossing my arms.
“How’s the case Davy has you working on?”
I look past him into Davy’s office. He’s also still working.
“It’s going slowly,” I reply to Monroe.
“This should be a walk in the park for you,” he says. “What’s the holdup?”
I look back at him. “I can’t seem to get in the place. There’s only hearsay about it even existing. There’s no proof.”
“Davy said you know the brother?” I nod. “Can’t you get him to talk?”
“It’s complicated,” I reply, uncrossing my arms and sliding my drawer out to grab my keys. I don’t make eye contact. I’m usually good at covering shit, but I’m tired, stressed, and it’s been a long ass day.
“Complicated?” he asks. “Wait.”
My eyes jump to him. I swallow. Please don’t say what you’re about to say.
Please don’t…
“You catching some kind of feelings for this guy?”
“Fuck you,” I say, brushing him off.
He stands up. “You are.” Like the Cheshire Cat himself, Monroe grins wickedly. “This is good,” he says, rubbing his hands together.
I eyeball him. “How is this good?”
“Because you never do this. You breathe work. It’s good you’re into someone.”
“Are we forgetting that someone is a case? That someone has a brother who I’m going to try to put in prison for doing illegal shit?”
“Is it that serious?”
“Yeah,” I say. “If what we have on him is true, then he’s big-time. He’ll go away for a while.”
“Damn, Dalton.” He rubs his face. “That sucks.”
“I know.” I look back at Davy’s office. “Why don’t you ask Davy if you can take over?”
He laughs. “I already have. I knew you didn’t want the case when he first gave it to you. He told me to fuck off.”
I blow out a huff of air. “This is the most complicated shit I’ve ever been in.”
“Yeah, I don’t envy you right now. But you know what you’ve got to do, right?”
I look over his face for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. I have to take down his brother.”
“Yeah.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jace
Missed calls and unanswered texts. That’s what I’ve been dealing with for the past week. Well, I’ve had enough of that shit. I went to her house, but she didn’t answer the door. So here I am, standing outside of Hudson’s. Her car is in the parking lot and I see her through the window sitting beside a man.
He’s an older guy.
Dalton is a few years older than me, so maybe she decided she wanted an older guy. Fuck, I don’t know. He’s much older, though.
Shit, it might be her dad?
Am I ready to walk into that?
Meet her dad?
I scrub my face before I hit my smoke. I look like a creeper out here. Why won’t she just talk to me?
I mean, I know I stopped calling for those two weeks, but I was trying to get my shit together. Dealing with the fact my brother was lying about Mary, I needed to clear my head, so I went out to the ranch. But I’m back now. Things are better, so I need to talk to Dalton.
She’s the only friend I’ve got.
And now I sound pathetic.
The older man gets up and walks toward the bathrooms.
I’m going in. I toss my cigarette, exhale the smoke from my lungs, and walk inside. The bar is loud tonight. There’s a game going and Dalton is nursing a beer. Her hair is up, showing off her lean neck. I want to wrap my hand around it and kiss her stupid.
Nerves.
I’m nervous.
I’ve never been nervous around a woman before, but this isn’t just some woman. This girl is smart and levelheaded. She’s got a sense of humor, unlike all the other girls I’ve fooled around with. I walk up behind her and stand close enough for her to hear me.
“A guy strolls into a bar,” I begin. She stiffens at the sound of my voice, but she doesn’t turn around. “It’s empty—just he and the bartender. He takes a seat and orders a beer. He hears someone whisper, ‘Pssst, I like your hat.’ The guy looks around but doesn’t see anyone. ‘Pssst, that shirt looks nice on you.’ He looks over at the bartender, ‘Excuse me, but…are you speaking to me?’
“The bartender rolls his eyes and says, ‘Nah, it’s the peanuts. They’re complimentary.’”
She turns her head, a big-ass smile on her face as her eyes dance over mine and then she makes that sound I love.
She laughs. “That is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”
“You liked it,” I reply, sliding onto the barstool beside her.
I grin. “Just a little.”
She grabs her beer and takes a sip. God, I’ve missed her. What the fuck? “I was beginning to wonder if we were still speaking?” I ask.
She licks the beer from her lips and my eyes focus. Her lips are full, and it pains me that I’ve only kissed them once.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what?” I ask as the bartender walks up.
“Want anything?” he asks me.
I nod at her drink, “I’ll take two more of those.”
He walks away and I look back at Dalton. “So you said you were busy?”
Her eyes grow wide and she looks behind me. I look, too, and see the older man walking up. She hops off her stool.
“Hey, Dad,” she says, putting her arm around his back. “This is a friend. He calls me Dalton like everyone else does.”
I look from him to her and she quickly smiles at me, but this is odd. I don’t have to see my expression to know I have a confused look on my face. Why did she need to say I call her Dalton?
“Hey, friend,” her dad says. “I’m Micky.”
I reach my hand out to shake his. “Jace. Good to meet you,” I reply. Two beers are placed on the counter and I hand him one and take a sip of mine.
He looks at Dalton who smirks. I don’t want to tell them I’ve been staring in the window for thirty minutes contemplating even coming in here, so I keep silent.
“This guy’s good,” he says to her. I stand up and let him have his seat back.
He waves me off. “I’ll take the one on the other side.”
I shrug and sit back down. Dalton looks a little uneasy. “You okay?” I ask her quietly.
She gives me a smile. “Fine.”
But she stays mostly silent the whole time. Her shoulders tense, her eyes glued to the TV screen, but she goes through beers like nobody’s business. Her dad asks me about where I grew up and how we met and everything else he can think of.
We find common ground when we start talking about the war. He’s a vet. I leave out the part about getting kicked out, and I let him talk about his glory days, because that’s one thing I know the older guys love to do.
By the end of it, he actually gives me a handshake/pat on the back, kisses his daughter on the forehead, and leaves us with a mostly empty bar.
Dalton is still oddly quiet, though, and I think she might be a little drunk.
“Wanna get home?” I ask her.
“Yeah,” she says, sliding off her stool, but not quite catching herself, so I do.
“I think you might have had one too many,” I reply with a grin. I’ve yet to see drunk Dalton. It’s cute.
She places her hands on my chest, looking up at me. My face grows serious, my pulse kick-starting.
I study her eyes, loose lit, but full of something I can’t touch. I want to kiss her so badly, but I don’t want to scare her away again.
“Maybe it was a bad idea saying we should take things farther?” I ask her.
She blinks and then swallows before regaining her composure. “I think the bad idea was putting a label on this. Let’s just see where it goes?” she says, grabbing her keys from the bar before sliding her cell phone into her back pocket.
My heart sinks.
I wanted a different response.
“You’re not driving,” I say to her.
“I can drive.” And that’s when I see it. She’s more than drunk. She’s tired and not the kind of tired you get from staying up too late, but the kind you get from life. That bone tired that even sleep can’t fix.
I don’t know why she would be this way. Dalton seems to have a good little life. A great dad, a stable job. She’s the best person I think I’ve ever met and yet, she looks like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders.
I shake my head. “Nope.” Reaching over, I pluck her keys from her hand. “I’ll take you home.” I start to walk, and she follows.
“That’s ridiculous,” she argues. “I am perfectly capable of driving myself. It’s only up the street.” But then she trips over her own foot and falls into my back. I don’t move for a moment, making sure she gets it together. I feel her forehead against me, and she starts to laugh.
“Okay,” she says, pulling away. I miss her touch. I look back at her. She waves her hand toward the door. “You drive.”
Once we get inside my truck, I turn the radio on, and she buckles up. I reverse and head out of the parking lot, not saying anything as we ride, and when I look over, Dalton’s head is leaning against the window and her eyes are closed. Her chest moves up and down at a slow pace, telling me that just that quickly, she’s fallen asleep.
I look back at the road, my thoughts scattered like the wind. I like this woman. That much is clear. I wanted to take things farther with her and yet, I took off to Grant Ranch as soon as shit got too deep with Bryce and me.
I’m afraid, without even meaning to, I may have been the one to push her away.
Once at her apartment, I get out and walk around to her side. Looking at her sleeping form, I try to figure out how I’m going to open the door without her falling out. So, I reach for the handle, carefully open it, and put my hand in to keep her from tipping over.
I slide my arm under her legs, scoop her up, and head into the lobby. It’s late, so there isn’t anyone around when I get inside the elevator. I lean back on the railing as we ascend. She sleeps deep in my arms, this woman who seems so strong on the outside, but so fragile behind her eyes.
I can’t help it, so I put my face in her hair and breathe in. She smells sweet and comforting.
God, what is happening here?
I’ve never had these feelings before, not like this. My chest feels tight, my stomach in knots. I don’t just want to sleep with this woman. I want to sleep with this woman. I want to crawl into bed with her and wake the next morning with her warm body beside mine. I want to have slow morning sex. The kind I’ve never had before, but seen on TV and thought what’s the point in that?
I see the point now.
I bet it’s the best fucking thing on the planet.
The elevator opens and I walk down to her place. I have her keys in my hand, so I unlock the door and head inside. It’s dark, save for the soft glow of a lamp on the desk near the window. I hear her cat, Slim, and then I see him.
“Shoo, man. You don’t want to wake…” And then my eyes land on the couch and floor. Files after thick files are stacked and falling. I look closer and see pictures of a girl and several photos that look to be mug shots, maybe? Shit, it’s too dark in here to make it all out.
I’m confused and beyond curious, but I move along and head to her bedroom. The bed is unmade, and pillows are on the floor. Clothes are thrown onto a chair, and I see a gun sitting on her dresser.
What the fuck is this?
Why does she have a gun?
Why is her room so messy? I mean, I don’t give a shit about the mess, but this doesn’t seem like Dalton. I know we haven’t known each other that long, but you get a sense of who a person is. She seems like she’s got her shit together. This doesn’t seem like a person who is well-composed.
I lay her down onto the bed, carefully removing her shoes before sliding the covers over her. I look down as she sleeps, wishing I knew more about her. Wishing I didn’t have to go. I exhale, bend, and kiss her hair before walking toward the door.
I reach over and turn the box fan on that sits on her dresser before pulling the door to and walking back into the living room. Slim still meows loudly. Finding my leg, he rubs against it.
“I guess you’re hungry, huh?” I ask him. I walk into the kitchen, and holy shit, the trash is full of peanut butter jars and cat food. On the counter is an almost empty liquor glass. I lift it and take a whiff.
“Jesus, Dalton.” She’s drinking the hard stuff.
I rub my face in frustration. “What the fuck is going on here?”
I lean
back against the counter, looking over the mess, and then I realize, she never talks about herself.
Ever.
I’ve asked, but there’s always been something that interruptus us.
We’ve talked on the phone plenty, and she’s given her opinion about my life and my problems, but the only thing I really know about her is she’s a librarian, she loves sports, has two parents, and no siblings that she speaks of. I know she likes seafood and nuts. She has a cat and likes to run.
But I don’t know the deep stuff. I look around the apartment. And this looks deep.
Slim rubs against me again, and then I remember the guy is hungry, so I go after some food for him. Pulling the cabinets open, I see there’s hardly any human food here, but luckily there are a few cans of cat food.
Damn, does the girl ever eat?
I mean, she was going to the grocery store once a week, but it looks like she hasn’t been in a while. I wouldn’t know because I’ve been at Pops. I reach for a can and pull open some drawers until I find the opener.
“Here, Slim,” I say, placing the food on the floor. He happily strolls over and starts feasting.
I guess I should leave now. I look around the messy kitchen. This isn’t my place, but I care about that woman in there. I’m doing all kinds of things that isn’t my style, so fuck it. I reach over and dump the liquor glass before grabbing the soap and dishcloth. I wash a few glasses in the sink before getting the trash off the countertops and lifting the overflowing bag from the bin.
I make my way to the living room and look down at the files scattered everywhere. I know I should mind my own business, but who wouldn’t look? I reach down and pick up a file before flipping it open.
“What are you doing?” I hear.
I snap my head up. “What is this?” I ask.
“That is none of your business.” She barges in the room and snatches it from my hand.
I back up a tad and narrow my eyes at her. She bends down and starts picking up the files before placing them onto the table in a hurry.
“Get out,” she says. “You’ve crossed the line.”
“What?” I ask disbelievingly.
Give Me Redemption (Give Me Series Book 4) Page 12
