You know that feeling you get when you haven’t been able to fully grasp what happened after a chaotic event? That’s what Chelsea looks like right now, her expression a mixture of bewilderment and shock. Did that actually happen?
“Just my ex-boyfriend. And I’m sure you can see why he’s my ex.” I offer her an apologetic smile. “I’m really sorry you had to witness that.”
“What does he want?” Like me, her gaze follows him as he gets into his car.
I sigh. “I honestly don’t know anymore.” When I saw him at the grocery store and then when he came to my house, I thought he wanted us to get back together. Now I don’t know what to think. Today’s encounter wasn’t by accident. Dale seemed more determined and purposeful in his approach. He wants something, and I’m convinced now it has nothing to do with getting back with me.
Only when I see his car driving away does some of the tension leave my body and my shoulders relax. I then feel an overwhelming need to call Josh, but I manage to squelch it. When I see him tonight, I just want him to hold me.
I take a moment for myself—get my emotions under control—before I turn back to Chelsea. “Thanks for sticking up for me. You really didn’t have to do that.”
Chelsea huffs a nervous laugh. “I didn’t even think. I just didn’t like the way he was talking to you.”
“Yeah, that makes two of us.” I shoot a glance toward the ice cream stand and see that Paige is next in line to place her order. “Come on, let’s forget he was ever here and you can finally meet Paige and Bree in person.”
“Sounds good,” Chelsea agrees with a nod.
The one thing that’s come out of seeing Dale again is that it makes me feel incredibly lucky to have Josh in my life.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Erin
I thought of telling Josh about my encounter with Dale but decided against it when I saw him later that night. I didn’t want to spoil the evening and any discussion of Dale would have been a surefire way to do that. Plus, I wasn’t in the mood to answer the questions I knew Josh would ask even though I know I’ll have to tell him eventually.
But everything would come to a head a week later on Friday after work.
A wild day at work.
“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late,” Josh says before greeting me with a kiss on the lips.
“That’s okay. I haven’t been waiting long.”
Peering down at me, his brows furrow in concern, his arm tightening around my waist as we make our way to the elevator of his apartment building. “What’s wrong?”
I exhale deeply. “They have to make cuts at the paper and I think I’m going to lose my job. You know what they say, last in, first out.” We had a staff meeting today and that’s when we got the news. Declining subscription numbers and the rising cost of paper are to blame.
Josh’s eyes widen a fraction, and then he mutters a curse under his breath. “God, I’m sorry, baby.”
I rub my hand down his taut side as we board the empty elevator. “I know it sucks but hopefully it won’t take me long to find another job.” After the initial shock subsided, I resigned myself to the fact that I’ll probably be unemployed pretty soon.
“When will you know?” he asks.
“Next week sometime. My manager isn’t sure what day the axe will come down but she wanted us to hear it from her and not see it on Twitter.” Apparently, word already got out because one of the other papers was already reporting that ATL would be slashing jobs.
Leaning down, Josh presses another kiss on my lips. “Don’t worry, you’ve got me. I’ll take care of you. I’ll help you find a better job.”
I adore my boyfriend and I appreciate that he wants to help, but I don’t need him to take care of me. I didn’t refuse the down payment money my parents offered to turn around and mooch off him.
“A better job. Absolutely,” I reply lightly. Maybe it won’t be in journalism or broadcasting, but the job market’s pretty strong so I’m sure I’ll find something full-time that pays a decent wage. And it shouldn’t take too long. But even if it takes a month or two, that won’t be too bad.
My co-worker Wendy, on the other hand, needs this job. She’s the breadwinner of her family and has one child in daycare, a mortgage and two car payments. I’m praying she doesn’t get a pink slip.
The elevator stops at the tenth floor and Josh guides me out, his arm still around my waist. “I don’t get it, they just promoted you.”
I shrug. “You know how it is when last quarter numbers come in and it’s thirty percent worse than projected.”
Once we reach Josh’s apartment, he unlocks the door and follows me in. I immediately turn, twine my arms around his neck and tilt my face up to his. “Okay, no more talk about my job for the rest of the weekend. Whatever happens will happen and I’m not going to stress over it. And I don’t want you to either, got it?”
A shadow flits across his face before a smile dawns, white and disarming. “Got it. Now go make yourself comfortable, I have something for you.”
I blink in surprise when he drops another kiss on my lips and disappears down the hall and into his room.
When he emerges less than two minutes later changed into a fitted, white polo shirt and tan cargo shorts, I wish I’d used that time to change into my comfy clothes instead of pouring myself a glass a wine.
I admire his legs. Nice calves. And if you ever thought men’s feet can’t be sexy, you should see my man’s. They perfectly match the rest of him; big in all the right places.
“Close your eyes and open your hand,” Josh instructs as he drops down beside me on the couch.
My gaze darts to the hand he has fisted on his thigh.
“What is it?” I ask.
Amused, he replies with exaggerated patience, “Close your eyes and I’ll give it to you.”
I let out a snort of laughter. “And then what are you going to do, take off your pants and put the ‘surprise’ in my hand?”
Chuckling softly, Josh makes a tsking sound. “You have such a dirty mind. But now I know what I’m feeding you for dessert.”
A transfusion-inducing amount of blood heads south of my Mason Dixon line as my eyes drop to his crotch. “I was going to have it for dessert regardless,” I reply with all the sass and confidence of a woman who knows she’s getting laid tonight.
Josh emits a hungry growl deep in his throat. His cargo shorts don’t look so roomy anymore. At least not in the crotch area.
“Would you hurry up and close your eyes and open your hand so we can get on to the good stuff?”
Horny Josh is my favorite and tormenting him has its own rewards. Tonight I feel like being ravished. And then doing a little ravishing of my own.
A giggle escapes my lips. “Oh alright.” I squeeze my eyes shut and hold out my hand.
Soon I feel Josh’s fingers brushing against my palm and then I’m holding something hard and small—something metal.
“Don’t lose it,” he whispers next to my ear.
My eyes snap open.
Lying almost weightless in my palm is a key, silver in color with 1055 in black at the top. His apartment number. The significance of it hits me like a Santa Ana wind gust in January.
My gaze jerks to his. “A key to your apartment?” I can’t even swallow, my throat is so tight. Being shocked and overwhelmed can do that to you.
Josh nods, looking both amused and serious. “So you won’t have to wait for me if I’m late.”
My goodness, he was only ten minutes late. I’d been fine waiting in the lobby chatting up the doorman, Lawrence, and holding the elevator for the UPS guy. I mean, his building even has a sitting area where I’d been content to read and play on my phone to pass the time.
“Are you sure?” I croak. We’ve officially been seeing each other a month. Exchanging keys feels more like a six-month event, no?
“If you’d rather not have it…” Josh’s voice trails off and for the first time, uncertainty flickers in his eyes.
My fingers close around the key and I quickly tuck my hand to my side. “No no, I want it. I’m just making sure you want me to have it.”
Josh wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into a tight embrace. “I wouldn’t be giving it to you if I didn’t want to.”
He drops a brief kiss on my lips and quickly comes back for more, his mouth opening hotly over mine. And then it’s just him and his lips, tongue and hands driving me wild and banishing thoughts of dinner from my mind.
Food can wait. There are other, more urgent appetites to satisfy.
“Is that your phone?” he murmurs against my lips.
My phone? Then I hear it, the sound of a phone vibrating on a solid surface. I vaguely remember setting it on the table in the hall when we walked in.
“I think so,” I reply without breaking the kiss.
Josh makes a sound, half laugh, half groan. “Do you need to get it?”
My body is telling me to ignore it and let it go to voicemail, but it could be the source I have in the state senate getting back to me about the car accident Rep. Statler was involved with last month. Jessie said he’d call if and when he uncovered the nature of the relationship the senator had with the deceased woman. She was twenty-six and Statler is fifty-nine and it’s not looking as if they were sexually involved.
“Hold my place. I’ll be right back.”
I reach the phone right before the call is sent into voicemail land. “Hello?”
“Hello, may I speak to Erin Bancroft.”
“Speaking.” The voice is male and unfamiliar. It definitely isn’t Jessie.
“Good evening, Miss Bancroft, this is Detective Owens from the Roswell Police Department.”
For a brief moment, I swear my heart stops. Phone calls from police officers are never a good thing. I swallow hard and ask, “Hi Detective Owens, what can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you this evening but I’m looking into a case and would like to ask you a few questions.”
I shift my weight to the other foot and watch as Josh approaches, his eyebrows raised. What’s going on?
I give a helpless shrug. “Oh. Is this about the kidnapping?” It’s the only reason I can think they’d be calling me. Although I don’t know what else they could want. I told them everything I could think of.
“No, this has to do with a man named Dale Landers. I believe you know him.”
Shock steals my next breath as my hand tightens on the phone. I drop to the chair behind me with a thud.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Worry etches a line above Josh’s brows.
I vigorously shake my head and hold up my hand in the universal “give me a minute” sign. I can’t talk to him right now. I have Detective Owens and the matter of my ex-boyfriend to deal with first
Five minutes later, I end the call, still in a state of semi-shock.
Holy shit.
I look at Josh, who is staring back at me. He’s barely moved from where he’s been standing since I took the call.
He points at my phone. “Who was that?”
I release a shaky breath and rise to my feet. I must look like I’m about to keel over because soon Josh’s hand is around my waist and he’s leading me to the sofa.
“That was a detective from the Roswell PD,” I say once we’re seated.
“What did he want?” His gaze anxiously searches mine. “Erin, what’s going on? Does it have something to do with the kidnapping?”
“No, it’s about Dale…my ex-boyfriend.”
Josh’s gaze narrows and there’s a subtle tightening of his jaw. “What about him?”
For some reason, I find it difficult to look him in the eye when I tell him what the police officer told me. “He’s being accused of assault. Sexual assault.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he says, his throat working as he swallows.
I wish I was. “His ex-girlfriend in Boston filed a report. They’re looking into the allegations.”
“But what does that have to do with you?”
I see the moment the unthinkable occurs to him. Dread, horror, fury and pain cross his face in a series of lightning flashes. “Oh God, he didn’t—” His voice is hoarse and breaks off completely because he can’t bear to say the words.
“No. No. Not that,” I assure him, enfolding his hand in both of mine. “He didn’t rape me. But he kidnapped me when I broke up with him. He drove me to his family’s summer home in Tennessee, and it was the scariest eighteen hours of my life.”
Josh goes deathly quiet. He doesn’t move a muscle except the ominous ticking of his jaw. I’ve seen him upset over the years, and on the rare occasion, even furious, but I’ve never seen him like this. It’s like watching a category four storm gain strength as it reaches landfall.
“It was almost four years ago,” I say, my voice urgent, desperate to calm him down. His eyes are the closest thing to unadulterated rage I’ve seen in a long time. “He didn’t hurt me.” At least not permanently. For the better part of two weeks, my wrists and ankles had retained evidence of the rope he’d used to tie me up.
Josh’s breathing is audible and controlled. Too controlled. It’s as if he’s fighting to restrain himself. “He’s a dead man cuz I’m gonna kill him.” His voice is low and menacing.
Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, I chide softly, “You’ll do no such thing. What would being in jail accomplish? I’d make a horrible woman on the outside.”
He scowls at my teasing tone and gives me the you can’t sweet talk me out of my need to beat the shit out of your ex-boyfriend look.
I stare deep into his eyes. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d react this way.”
In that moment, anger seems to drain from him and all that’s left is anguish enough to twist my insides into a suffocating knot.
“I just—” He shakes his head and swallows hard. “I can’t stand the thought of you—afraid and at that psycho’s mercy. It’s driving me nuts.”
“I know. I know. But I’m okay. I lied and told him I’d give him another chance. That’s when he agreed to drive me home.”
“Did you go to the police?”
Telling my mother was easy compared to confessing it all to Josh. “I wanted to but I was so confused. When I wouldn’t let him in the house after he took me home, Dale panicked. He called his parents and lied and said he was afraid I was going to hurt myself. When they came over, I told them what happened. I told them I was going to call the police but they convinced me not too. They said it would ruin his life. They convinced me that no one would believe me, and I believed them. I didn’t tell anyone but Paige.”
I look down at our clasped hands, his hands now gripping mine.
“Not even your parents?”
I shake my head. “What was the point? Plus, my parents and I don’t have that kind of relationship. But I did tell my mom about a month ago and I’m pretty sure she told my dad because he’s been extra nice to me when he’s home.” Which isn’t often. “Two weeks ago, they offered to give me the down payment to buy a place of my own. They said renting is a waste of money. Their only stipulation is they get to inspect it and security has to be topnotch.”
Two hundred and fifty thousand is a lot of guilt money, but that’s just the way my parents are. Although my mother does seem to be making more of an effort. She hasn’t been traveling as often, and she’s been going out of her way to make sure she’s there when I get home from work.
During the work week, we’ve been eating dinner together, something we haven’t done regularly since my sister moved out. Conversation is stilted because, despite her best efforts, my mother and I have almost nothing in common. The only thing she asked is that I tell her if Dale tries to contact me again. I told her I would, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her about seeing him at Summer Eats. I’d simply wanted to push it out of my mind and pretend it never happened, the same way I wish Dale had never happened, period.
Then, as
if the thought just occurred to him, Josh exclaims, “Fuck, he was at your house the other day. What the hell did he want?” His anger comes blazing back, his body coiled for battle.
I stroke the place between his thumb and index finger with my thumb. “I was just thinking about that when I was talking to the detective and I think it had to do with this case. He must know he’s being investigated.”
Agitated, Josh curses under his breath, bolts to his feet and commences pacing. “What do the police want you to do, testify against him? Back up her story that he’s an unhinged asshole?”
“The detective wants me to come down to the station and give a statement to the officer from Boston who’s handling the case. If they end up charging him, he says I may not have to testify in court. It just depends.”
It depends whether Dale will accept a plea. It depends if they find my story believable. But they’re contacting all of Dale’s ex-girlfriends to see if this behavior is part of a pattern or if Audrey is an ex-girlfriend scorned.
I know she’s not. She’s a victim who didn’t get off as easily as I did.
Josh ceases his pacing and stares down at me. “Are you going to talk to them? Give them a statement? Would you testify if it came down to it?” His questions come like bullets at me.
Slowly, I come to my feet, and slip my arms around his waist, finding comfort in the warmth of his body and his delicious scent. “What do you think I should do?” It’s not that I don’t know what I want to do but I do want to know what he thinks.
After a beat of silence, he releases a weighty sigh. His lips feather my forehead in a kiss as he holds me close. “What I think is that either the justice system needs to deal with him or I will.”
“I guess I have no choice then, do I?” I say, peering up at him, taking note of his jaw tick. “I don’t want you going to jail because of me.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up. “You have no idea what I’d do for you.” His half smile might be rueful but his voice is grim.
My breath stills. An I love you declaration now hovers on the tip of my tongue but before I can work up the nerve to bare my soul, he continues, “Going to jail would mean being away from you and that would be one hundred times worse than the satisfaction of beating the guy to a pulp.”
Played (Trapped Book 3) Page 23