I watched them drive away and crossed my fingers those steel nerves wouldn’t desert her.
Chapter 15
Heather
“Let’s do this,” I announced as Lincoln parked outside the police station. “I’m ready.”
“It won’t be as bad as you’re imagining,” he said as we climbed out of the car. “I won’t let them badger you.”
“I don’t even know why they want to question me,” I told him as we walked toward the building. “Tommy and I just got together. I wouldn’t have any information they’d want.”
“We’ll see,” Lincoln said, holding the door open for me.
He escorted me to the counter and a man in his late forties came to greet us within minutes. “Hello Heather, I’m Detective Robertson. I left a message on your phone last week.”
“Right,” I murmured as I shook his hand. “You said you wanted to ask me some questions?”
“Right.” He gave me a bland smile then glanced at Lincoln. “And you are?”
“Carter Lincoln,” the lawyer said smoothly. “Mrs. Hawthorne’s attorney.”
The cops face retained the friendly smile but his eyes tightened. “I heard you just got married. Congratulations,” he told me.
“Thanks,” I smiled back, cool as a cucumber.
“Well, come on back,” he said, leading us deeper into the police station.
I glanced around as we walked, but I didn’t really see anything interesting. Men and women were mostly working on computers and only a couple of them glanced up as we skirted the room. The place was quiet. I’d expected something different, more exciting or intimidating or something.
“Come on in and take a seat,” the detective said, gesturing at a doorway.
When I walked inside, it wasn’t the room I’d been picturing in my head. Instead of a metal table bolted to the floor, there was a regular, wooden conference table. Some file cabinets were in one corner and a small coffee pot was sitting on the counter along the wall. It did have the mirror, though. It was definitely a two-way mirror. I wondered if there was anyone on the other side.
I sat down at the table and put my purse on the floor next to me while Lincoln got situated.
“I just wanted to ask you a few questions, Ms. Hawthorne,” the detective told me as he sat down across from us. “You really didn’t need a lawyer present.”
“Mrs. Hawthorne has been advised by her legal counsel not to speak with police without her lawyer present,” Lincoln said blandly, setting his folded hands on the table.
Detective Robertson cleared his throat in annoyance and gave a small nod.
“Do you know Mark Phillips?” he asked, without any build up whatsoever.
I looked at Lincoln the way he’d told me to the night before and caught his nod.
“Yes,” I answered. “He was a teacher at my high school.”
“And what did he teach?”
I waited for Lincoln’s nod. “He taught English literature, I think.”
“You think?”
“Well, it might have been creative writing. I don’t remember.”
“And were you in his class?” Robertson asked.
Lincoln nodded.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“But you saw him around school?”
Lincoln nodded.
“Yes. It isn’t a very large school.”
“And did you ever see him outside of school?” the detective asked.
Lincoln shook his head. “Mrs. Hawthorne’s private life isn’t up for discussion,” he said flatly.
I swallowed hard as the detective’s eyes narrowed.
The questions continued that way for over an hour. He asked me questions about my old high school, the schedules, the teachers, what year I’d graduated. I answered all of those. But any time he asked something that came too close to me personally, Lincoln shot him down.
It was like a tennis match. Detective Robertson would ask a question, and I’d look at Lincoln. He’d either nod or shake his head, I’d answer or Lincoln would answer, then we’d be on to the next question. Over and over and over. I had no idea how I would have managed it if Lincoln hadn’t been there. Even after dealing with Grease and Casper the night before, I’d been completely unprepared.
When we finally left the police station, I was completely drained.
“You did well,” Lincoln said as we walked to his car.
“Thanks. Holy shit, that was intense.”
“Yeah, I had a feeling they’d go hard,” he mumbled, unlocking his car.
I snorted at his word usage. He normally sounded so proper.
“I put in a motion to have the case dismissed,” he said as soon as we were inside his car with the doors closed. “And I called the DA last night and told him the case was bullshit.”
“Oh,” I mumbled, buckling up. “You can do that?”
“Their evidence is nonexistent,” he said in annoyance as we pulled out of the parking lot. “I’m not sure why they narrowed in on your husband, but they don’t have anything on him. That entire arraignment was absurd. They had no grounds to arrest him.”
“So they don’t have anything?” I asked, turning to look at him. I’d barely heard a word about what was happening with Tommy’s case. I knew he was trying not to worry me, but it pretty much had the opposite effect.
“Some kid saw Tommy and the teacher arguing in the parking lot of the school. Tommy slammed the teacher into a car, another teacher broke it up, and that was that,” he said, glancing at me then back at the road. “But that can be explained away. Tommy’s little brother and three other members of his family had just died. His mother and older brother were in the hospital. Not only is that enough of a reason for him to become…emotional, but if it went to trial, no juror would be unsympathetic.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “That was a rough time.”
“I’m sorry,” Lincoln said. “I heard you were friends with the little brother. Michael?”
“Mick,” I corrected. No one called him Michael.
“Right.”
“Is that the only thing they had?” I asked as we turned up the road toward the club’s gate.
“Everything else is circumstantial at best.” He scoffed. “Tommy can’t tell them where he was two years ago, because no one knows where they were two years ago. Mark Phillips had a stack of Michael Hawthorne’s school papers on his home desk. Odd? Yes. But not outside the realm of possibility, the guy was a teacher.”
My heart started to thump hard in my chest.
“They’re scrambling. Trying to find something. They won’t.”
“Oh,” I rasped, nodding as the prospect on the gate swung it open and let us through.
“The call will come in today,” Lincoln told me easily. “They’ll drop the case.”
We came to a stop in the forecourt of the garage and I gave Lincoln a quick smile as I climbed out of his car. “Are you coming in?” I asked, grabbing my purse off the seat.
“No, I’m going to go back to my hotel and change.”
I looked him over. “But why?” I asked. His suit was dark gray and it fit him perfectly from shoulders to ankles. He was seriously rocking the thing.
“Because this suit costs four thousand dollars and it’s uncomfortable as fuck,” he replied, loosening his tie.
I glanced over my shoulder when I heard Tommy call my name, then stuck my head back in the door. “It was worth every penny,” I told the lawyer, smiling as he laughed. “Thanks, Lincoln.”
“It’s my job,” he said with a nod.
I shut the door and turned toward my husband.
“How’d it go?” he asked, lifting me off my feet until I had to wrap my legs around his waist.
“Carter Lincoln’s a badass,” I replied as he carried me toward the building.
“Right? Dude is crazy good.”
“He was all, ‘Mrs. Hawthorne isn’t answering any questions about her private life.’ And the detective was totally swearing lik
e a sailor inside his head, but he just nodded like he was resigned to it.”
Tommy laughed.
“I would have been fucked without him,” I said with a sigh as we moved through the main room of the clubhouse. “Casper and Grease were annoying and mean, but they didn’t talk fast enough to prepare me.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asked, maneuvering around the people crowding the room without once looking away from my face.
“Yeah. I’m just glad it’s over,” I replied as he carried me into his room and dropped onto the bed with me on his lap.
“Me too, baby,” he said with a smile. “I got news.”
“What news?”
“Patched in today,” he told me with a smug grin.
“What? Are you serious?” I asked, looking down at the front of his vest. I ran my finger over the smooth leather where his prospect patch had been.
“Partyin’ tonight, sugar,” he said, grabbing my ass with both hands and bouncing me up and down.
I giggled as he threw me onto the bed and ripped off his cut, tossing it onto the top of his dresser. He turned back to me and wiggled his eyebrows before pulling his t-shirt over his head.
“Mr. Hawthorne,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows back. “You’re in an awfully good mood.”
“Hell yeah, I am,” he agreed, taking off his boots. “Got your shit taken care of, got that fuckin’ prospect patch cut off, and now I’m gonna fuck my wife.”
“There are people all over the club,” I reminded him as he pulled off my sandals.
“Don’t give a fuck,” he replied, crawling onto the bed. He slid my dress up my thighs as he went until it was up around my waist. “And you don’t give a fuck either.”
“How do you figure?” I murmured, my lips twitching.
“Because you’re not stoppin’ me.” He gave me a boyish smile and then his lips were on mine.
I ran my hands up his chest as he kissed me, feeling the scar on his collarbone from a fight with Mick when they were kids, and the long line of scar tissue along his ribs from a more serious fight he wouldn’t tell me about. I’d come to memorize his body, the way he moved and the way his muscles flexed when he braced himself above me. I loved it. He wasn’t bulging with muscles the way his brothers were, but each one was defined. Long and lean and mouthwatering.
He groaned against my mouth and pulled away, running his lips down my neck. As my hands roamed to his throat, he caught one hand and pulled it down between us. “Take ’em off,” he ordered, snapping the side of my underwear.
As I reached down to push at the fabric, his hand went to his belt buckle.
“Fuck, you smell good,” he said, sucking at my skin just above the neckline of my dress.
It took a little maneuvering, but it didn’t take long before my panties were pushed to my knees and he was yanking them off my legs. His jeans were hanging open, and I reached forward and wrapped my fingers around him just as his hand slid between my thighs.
“Oh God,” I moaned as he slid one, then two fingers inside me, curving them up and twisting a little.
“Condom,” he murmured, nodding to the packet he’d set on the bed.
I closed my eyes and shook my head as his thumb pressed down on my clit. He was crazy if he thought I had the coordination to put a condom on him in that moment.
All of a sudden his hand disappeared and when my eyes opened in surprise he was watching me with a smile. “Fine, I’ll do it,” he teased, putting the condom on.
“I was busy,” I said huskily, yelping in surprise as he suddenly grabbed my hips and flipped me onto my stomach.
I’d barely pushed myself to my knees when he steadied me with one hand and pressed inside me from behind.
I dropped to my elbows and inhaled sharply, clenching the blankets beneath me in my fists. Sex with Tommy got better every time. The more we learned about each other, the easier it was to push the right buttons, touch the right places and move in the right rhythm to drive each other crazy.
I stretched one arm back and gripped Tommy’s thigh as he curled his body over mine, bracing himself on a fist near my head. He was surrounding me, his breath hot on my neck and his chest pressing against my back.
I let my hand fall off his thigh and reached between my legs, sliding my hand against the slick skin and using the heel of my palm to rub my clit as the tips of my fingers slid against his balls.
“Fuck,” he groaned as he thrust harder, his fingers digging into my hip.
It only took a couple more thrusts before both of us came, first him and then me.
* * *
“We really gotta get up,” he murmured, running his hand over my bare back.
He hadn’t bothered taking my dress off until after we’d had sex, but the minute he’d pulled off the condom, he’d wanted my bare skin against his. I couldn’t really blame him. I needed the closeness after the day I’d had, too.
“When is everyone showing up?” I asked sleepily, lifting my head off his chest.
“Most of ’em are probably out there already,” he replied. “Boys’ll come in when they’re finished workin’ and the old ladies’ll come after that.”
“And the side bitches,” I mumbled.
Tommy barked out a laugh. “The what?”
“All the nasty girls that hang around.” I said. “The side bitches.”
“None of the men in my family have side bitches,” he replied, trying and failing to keep a straight face.
“But the other guys do.”
“Some of ’em, yeah,” he said with a nod. “Doesn’t have nothin’ to do with us, though.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“That’s the way it is.” He dropped his head back onto the pillow. “Don’t go startin’ shit, either.”
“I don’t start shit.”
“Sugar, you’re always in the middle of shit. Shit follows you around. Shit finds you and you wade in like Michael fuckin’ Phelps.”
“But I don’t start it!” I pointed out.
“Alright, well don’t get in the middle of it either.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“Try harder than that,” he said dryly.
He rolled off the bed and stretched while I stared. His skin was so gorgeous, perpetually tan and smooth. His whole family was like that. Lucky bastards. My skin was at least a few shades lighter than theirs, and it didn’t matter what I did, nothing stopped me from breaking out in one spot or another.
“Get dressed,” he ordered, putting an end to my ogling by throwing my dress at me.
I was silent as I put my clothes back on. Watching him move naked around the room unselfconsciously reminded me that there was a chance I wouldn’t get to keep seeing him that way. Lincoln was sure the charges against Tommy would be dropped, and once that happened I didn’t really see any reason for us to stay married. The police could always find a way to charge him later if they found more evidence against him, but I couldn’t see that happening. They already had so little to go on, it was kind of amazing they’d singled out Tommy in the first place. I was pretty sure the district attorney wouldn’t want to get his ass handed to him again by Lincoln.
“You ready?” Tommy asked as he stuffed his keys and wallet in his pockets.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, running my fingers through my hair.
There wasn’t any reason to start asking questions or try to figure out what we were doing then. It was the night of his party, the day he’d finally gotten what he’d been waiting for since he was a kid. I didn’t want to ruin that.
When we got out to the main room, the place was already crowded and loud. Music was pouring out of the sound system, and smoke from people’s cigarettes and pipes made the room kind of hazy.
“Looks different, huh?” Tommy asked, throwing his arm around my shoulder.
“Just a little,” I replied, searching through the crowd to find faces I recognized.
“Come on,” he ordered, leading me through the room. “Let’s get a d
rink.”
There were a couple women standing behind the bar I didn’t recognize. They sure as hell knew Tommy, though.
“Hey, Tommy,” they both said, almost simultaneously.
I rolled my eyes.
“Hey, can I get a couple beers?” he asked with a smile.
I pinched his side, hard, and I didn’t let go until he gripped my wrist and pulled my hand away.
“Would you knock it off?” he said softly into my ear.
“Stop smiling at them,” I ordered, making him laugh.
“Moose said not to give you beer,” the bartender with long black hair chirped, setting a bottle down on the bar top. “Whiskey only.”
Tommy laughed and grabbed the bottle. “Alright,” he said. “My wife wants a beer, though.”
Chirpy’s smile melted off and she glanced at me quickly before nodding.
“You totally banged her,” I accused, pulling out from under Tommy’s arm. “Ew!”
“Does it matter?” he asked in confusion, twisting off the cap of his whiskey. “Wasn’t plannin’ on fuckin’ her tonight.”
My mouth dropped open in shock just as the chick we were talking about set my beer down on the bar.
“Thank you,” I said politely, grabbing my beer. It really wasn’t her fault Tommy was an asshole.
I turned back to Tommy and shoved at his stomach just as he was taking a drink, making him cough and choke. “You know, you’re kind of sucking at this whole marriage thing right now,” I informed him. “Get your shit together, Hawthorne.”
I stomped away, but I wasn’t really sure where to go so I ended up walking out front where there were more groups of people congregating. Everyone was joking and laughing like they’d done at our wedding, but the entire club had a totally different feel. Tommy’s party was a celebration, but it had a darker edge.
Everyone was getting a little more drunk, wearing a little less clothing, and were talking a little louder. There was a fire burning in a big barrel in the forecourt, and there were at least fifty motorcycles lined up along the front edge of the building. Wives and girlfriends hadn’t brought their family cars with the booster seats and airbags; they’d ridden in on the backs of their men’s bikes.
I watched a woman climb onto one of the picnic tables and start shaking her ass and snorted. Then I realized it was Farrah.
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