by Karr, Kim
Things come in threes.
I hope in my case the superstition remains just that—a superstition.
I’ve had enough.
The water starts to warm but never gets hot. It doesn’t matter. I let it sluice down my body anyway. The bar of soap is small and obviously used but I rub it all over myself until my bones ache and my skin feels raw. For the past six hours, I’ve been sitting in a holding room and waiting. Waiting. Waiting for what, I still don’t know. All I know is someone finally asked me if I’d like to take a shower.
“Speed it up, Storm,” Santa Claus hollers over the running water.
Ducking my head one more time, I reluctantly turn the faucet off. Hot or cold, it’s been days since I’ve been allowed to shower, and after everything that’s happened over the past weeks, I’m not sure I can ever feel clean enough.
In fast strides, I walk over to the half wall and grab the towel set on the ledge and wrap it around my waist. The guard seems annoyed with his job, or maybe just annoyed with life. I’m not feeling much different right now.
With a shake of his head, he tosses me a pair of prison-issued white underwear. I want to tell him to fuck off—that I’d rather go commando—but I know it won’t get me anywhere, so I drop my towel and punch my legs into the holes.
The guard then opens a bag I’d assumed contained a freshly laundered prison jumpsuit, but instead he pulls out the same clothes I was wearing when I was booked Friday night.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Get dressed. Your attorney is here and he’ll explain everything.”
“Has the lockdown been lifted?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t understand.”
“Do you want to ask questions or do you want to go meet with your attorney?”
Without wasting another second, I slip my shirt over my head and tug up my jeans. Then I shove my feet into my boots without socks and don’t bother to tie them because time is of the essence. “I’m ready,” I tell Santa Claus, whose name is actually Clyde Gardner. “Am I being transported somewhere?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“What about the bail hearing I was on my way to this morning?”
He shrugs again. “Look, like I said, I don’t know anything. I was told to bring you upstairs showered and dressed. Now, follow me, so I can do my job,” he says and starts walking to the exit.
No cuffs.
No shackles.
What’s going on?
Not a word as we walk down the hallway or ride in the elevator. Nothing until we reach the same room I was in Friday night. “Stop here,” he says and opens the door. When he does, I look inside, and just like on Friday night, Todd is inside waiting for me. I take one deep breath; my heartbeat speeds and my blood feels icy in my veins. Without formality, Santa Claus walks away.
Confused, I step inside. “What’s going on?”
Todd grins at me. “You’re free to go. All charges have been dropped.”
My palms hurt and I look down to see my nails pressing into them. I rub my hands together with disbelief etched on my face. “But how? Why?”
With a slap on my shoulder, Todd pulls a chair out. “Sit down and I’ll explain everything while your paperwork for release is being completed.”
Blinking in confusion, I stare at the chair. “Do I have to?”
He laughs. “No, you can stand there while we wait if you prefer.”
Running a hand through my wet hair, I’m at a loss for words. “I don’t understand.”
His teeth are practically gleaming. “Just before Tom Worth climbed those steps and was shot to death, he confessed to killing both Eve Hepburn and his daughter. Along with his written confession, investigators also have reason to believe it was Tom who broke into Charlotte’s hotel room the night of the vote. They found Eve’s computer in a motel room he was shacked up in, along with what they think is a copy of a key to Charlotte’s apartment. The computer had been wiped clean, but it definitely belonged to her.”
I’m still at the beginning. “He confessed?”
Todd nods. “That’s what I said.”
I’ve never been much of a romantic. Speed and adrenaline are what keeps me going. And yet as those two words register, only one thought comes to mind—Charlotte. If my name is cleared, there is nothing holding me back. I can be with her. Really be with her. And I don’t want to take things slow anymore.
Sweet, sexy Charlotte. Innocent and pure. She’s mine, because for some reason she wants me. Anything but innocent and definitely not pure.
“What about the lockdown?”
“The mayor made an exception.”
“Fucking Alex,” I mutter. Now I have to thank him.
Before allowing myself to change mental gears, I have to clarify. “You mean I’m free, as in free to leave here? Cleared of all charges?”
“Yes, you’re a free man, Jasper Storm.”
I’m free.
CHAPTER SIX
SHARP TURN AHEAD
Charlotte
THE SMELL OF fresh garlic and tomatoes wafts through the air.
Mrs. Storm is cooking spaghetti sauce for dinner. Whitney is helping her. I’ve been ordered to sit on the couch and do nothing. Will has been upstairs on the phone with Todd for the past fifteen minutes. And Drew and Jake are sitting with me in the living room watching a replay of last night’s baseball game.
Staring out the window, I anxiously wait to hear what is going on with Jasper. The lockdown has yet to be lifted. It’s already five in the afternoon, so even if it were removed tonight, Whitney told me there is no way I’m going to be able to see Jasper until the morning.
This saddens me.
Suddenly, my ears perk up.
Footsteps. Out in the hallway. Heavy and fast.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My heart rate spikes.
Not the police again.
Somehow, I manage to tune out the noise that surrounds me and I swear I can hear laces hitting the floor.
I must be imagining it.
I listen harder. Now I hear the jingle of keys. A rasp of metal teeth engaging the lock. And then the door flings open.
My insides melt and I gasp in sweet surprise.
Just over six feet and one hundred and eighty pounds of long, lean muscle stands in the entryway with a grin on his face so wide, it brings tears to my eyes. “What’s for dinner?” he asks as his eyes sweep the loft, stopping on his mother at the stove, before continuing to take in the room, and then landing on me.
Our eyes meet and the connection I feel to Jasper is stronger than ever.
Mrs. Storm runs over to her son and throws her arms around him. She’s crying and he takes a few moments to try to calm her down. She says something to him that I can’t hear, but can only imagine they are words meant to re-establish her role as his mother. Will is downstairs now talking to Whitney with a grin as wide as Jasper’s on his face. He must have known Jasper was on his way home. Drew and Jake look as shocked as me, but recover quickly and go to join Jasper and his mother.
Standing on shaky legs, my heart is still beating so fast at the sight of him. His brown, brown eyes look darker, tired, his brown hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it more than a couple of times, but everything about him causes my breathing to pick up.
He’s trying to break through the crowd.
I brace myself for what I know he’s going to see when he looks at me.
A hand on my back distracts me from the sexy sight. I look up to see Will standing beside me. “I didn’t tell him about the attack. I knew you wanted to,” he whispers.
I give him a nod. “Thank you.”
He gives me a return nod before retreating back to where Whitney is standing. Will has obviously already talked to Jasper and is clearing the way for everyone else to say their hellos.
When I look back over at Jasper, he’s just breaking through the crowd, and those tears I’v
e tried to suppress start to fall. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop them from sliding down my face. And it’s okay because these are happy tears, not sad ones.
He’s back.
Jasper’s back.
I don’t know how. Or why. Or for how long. But I don’t care, because he’s come back to me.
Less than a minute passes before he’s finally free of everyone’s reach. His eyes land on mine in an instant and I can feel his stare like a gentle caress. The emotion that passes between us is too much, and I find myself leaning against the couch just to keep standing. He takes one step, two, three, and four. Confident. Slow. Steady. The sun is shining brightly through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind me, leaving me cast in shadow, hiding my bruises and cast.
The moment Jasper sees me, really sees me, his smile fades, his stride becomes hurried, and his body stiffens. His eyes begin to search me frantically, sweeping me from head to toe, stopping at my cast before settling on my face once again. “Charlotte, what . . .” he gasps, unable to finish his sentence.
“I’m okay,” I reassure him, reaching out my hand for him.
Jasper is in front of me in a flash and with wild eyes, he places his palms on my shoulders and exams me further. There are so many emotions flashing in his eyes.
Guilt.
Sorrow.
Empathy.
Once he’s completed looking me over, he searches the room for answers only I want to give him. “What happened to her?” he shouts.
Everyone is silent.
“Jasper, can we please go into your room to talk?” I whisper.
Unfocused, uncertain, and maybe even a little scared, he doesn’t respond to my question. “What happened to her?” he yells, this time looking directly at Jake for the answer.
Jake’s face is crestfallen.
There’s a sound echoing throughout the loft. It’s Jasper and he sounds like a wounded animal.
Jake remains where he stands.
Jasper’s face turns red. His mouth mashes into a line. Rage seems to take over.
Jake watches him, almost like he’s seen this transformation before.
In less than a second, Jasper goes completely wild and is lunging for Jake. I try to grab hold of him, but he’s a raging lunatic. Out of control. Wild. Crazy. Mad as hell. He’s on Jake and pinning him up against the wall before I can even blink. “I asked you to look out for her!” Jasper is out of control—his body trembling, his voice shaking.
Drew hustles over to them and attempts to pull Jasper off Jake.
I’m frozen in place, unable to move. I’ve never seen him this angry. This animalistic. This alpha.
Jasper has Jake in a chokehold. “Answer me,” he seethes.
Jake is coughing, not doing a thing to defend himself.
Despite his hulking size, Jasper sends Drew flying across the room.
I look at Will. “Do something!”
He shakes his head. “They need to work it out.”
Mrs. Storm and Whitney have their hands slapped over their mouths.
Deciding if I don’t take the situation into control, no one else is going to, I swiftly cross the room and scream, “Jasper, please, it wasn’t his fault. He found me. He saved me.”
As if in freeze frame, Jasper loosens his hold on Jake.
“He saved me,” I say again.
Jasper lets go of Jake and turns. His eyes sweep me once again. “He . . . he saved you?”
I nod.
Jasper looks at Jake, who is trying to compose himself. Jake nods. And then as if it is all too much, Jasper slides to the ground.
Slowly, I sit in front of him and take his face between my hands, my cast rougher on his skin than I want it to be. “If it wasn’t for Jake I might be dead.”
Jasper seems to be in shock.
Jake offers his hand first to me, then Jasper. They make eye contact and exchange a look I can’t quite decipher.
Standing, Jasper looks a me.
“Come on,” I insist, “we need to talk. I’ll tell you everything.”
As if slowly coming out of his state of shock, he blinks a few times and then he takes my cast in his hand, kisses it, looks at me, kisses my forehead, my nose, my lips. Soft and gentle, as if trying to ease my pain. “Charlotte, oh, God, Charlotte,” he says in a broken voice that I can feel the sharp edges of cutting at my soul.
“I’m okay,” I cry. “I’m okay.”
He doesn’t say another word. He doesn’t move. I’m not even sure if he is breathing. He’s just looking at me with haunted eyes.
Feeling so much stronger with him by my side, I take his hand and lead him toward the hallway. Everyone is silent around us; the only noise is the sound of the spaghetti sauce bubbling on the stove.
Stepping over his threshold first, I head toward the bed. I can hear the door close behind me. He’s following my lead. I sit down and pat the space beside me. He falls to my side, so close I can smell him. An unfamiliar but so-familiar scent. I turn with one leg on the bed and put my hand on his knee.
He’s being patient. It’s so unlike him. I want to blurt it all out and get it over with, yet I know it will hurt less if I take my time and explain. But he’s still shaking and I hate it, so I crawl onto his lap and wrap my arms around his neck, and then I start at the beginning and tell him everything.
Everything.
From why I went home Friday afternoon, to how I got there, to what happened once I entered my apartment, to Jake’s knock on the door. To Jake saving my life. From waking at the hospital, to his mother’s comfort, to his friends’ vigilance. And to how much I was worried about him and how very much I missed him.
Everything.
Everything, except those three little words I know I feel for him. I’ve known it for a while.
I want to tell him how much he means to me. That I need him in my life. And for once I’m not worried I’m being too needy. I know Jasper Jackson Storm doesn’t look at me that way, but I also know Jasper isn’t JJ anymore and someone needing him doesn’t come easy.
So I hold off, because of him, and also because of me. In truth, I know I’m holding back for more than just him. I’m holding back because everyone I’ve ever cared about in my life is gone.
Forgotten me.
And I can’t lose him.
Therefore, skipping those words is okay because by the way he’s holding me close right now, I know he’s not planning on forgetting me.
And that’s enough.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MAINTENANCE CHECK
Jasper
IF TIME STANDS still, nothing can go wrong.
But it doesn’t stop. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. They pass and things happen. 259,200 seconds. 4,320 minutes. 72 hours. 3 days. That’s how long I was away from Charlotte. During that time, I was arrested. She was attacked. She almost died. Jake saved her. Her attacker was caught. Killed. And I was freed. Seems like enough wrong for a lifetime, and yet it was only three days.
The harsh cold reality of what has taken place has my body drenched in a cold sweat, my brain swimming in waves of emotion, and still, as I look at Charlotte, I can’t help but think she is stronger than I ever could have imagined because right now I feel like I might crumble.
This is my fault.
I should have been there for her.
There’s an ache that rips apart my chest every time I look at her.
We’ve talked for the past hour, mostly I listened, my heart so dark with the knowledge of what happened to her that I would kill the son of a bitch with my bare hands if I could.
Then I think of my friends, and my mother, and how they pulled together to take care of her when I couldn’t.
When I couldn’t.
That’s what weighs the heaviest on me—a burden harder to shed than any I could ever imagine.
“Are you going to apologize to Jake?”
Sighing, I look at her. “Trust me, he feels just as bad as me.”
She cocks her he
ad in confusion.
I shake mine. “Never mind. I’ll talk to him.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Charlotte’s voice is full of concern.
I run my hands through her mounds of dirty-blond curls. “Stop asking me that. You’re the one who got hurt.”
“Always so bossy,” she tells me with a grin.
Flames are licking at my skin and there’s a burst of heat clawing through my stomach, but it all goes away with that one smile she gives me. “You like it when I’m bossy.”
“I like it when you’re a lot of things,” she teases, running her fingertips through my hair.
Flirty.
Sexy.
Incredible.
Her touch is electric. A current that travels all the way to my cock. I try not to think about sex. I shouldn’t want to get her naked, and yet, I can’t help but want to make her feel better in the only way I can right now.
My hands travel down her back and rest on the tattoo inked on her lower spine. On the bouquet of forget-me-nots. The image I wish she never had to mar her body with. The family who couldn’t love one little girl enough to make her feel special. Getting out of my own head, I push the dire thought away and focus on her. On how special I think she is. On the fact that she’s alive, and here with me.
Fingers tug at my hair, and she buries her face in my neck, kissing me softly, making me groan.
Maybe she has the same idea I do?
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The tap is light, gentle, and I know it’s none of the guys.
“Jasper and Charlotte. Dinner’s ready.”
I open my mouth to tell my mother to eat without us, but Charlotte puts her hand over my mouth. I can’t help but laugh at her; she knows me too well.
“We’ll be right there,” Charlotte tells my mother.
“Good, and Charlotte,” she says.
“Yes, Mrs. Storm?”
“Shannon stopped by to see how you’re doing.”
“Who’s Shannon?” I whisper.
That smirk on Charlotte’s face tells me I’m going to want to hear this. “Great, maybe she can stay for dinner,” she says to my mother.
“Great idea, I’ll ask her.”
The conversation through the door ceases. “Well, who’s Shannon?”