The Last Innocent

by Rebekah Strong

  Luke stiffened waiting for the attack, but she stayed calm. It disturbed him how calm she was.

  She continued, keeping her voice down. “I don’t care about you, and I don’t care about some dead politician. I can’t stop you, but Pete’s not here to defend himself, so know that I will.”

  Luke couldn’t help but smile. He figured that was why she came tonight. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

  The waiter saved Luke by showing up with their food. Spicy steam reminded them how hungry they were as he set the large bowls in front of them. A mound of rice floated on creamy gumbo crowned with golden fried okra. As they ate, the conversation drifted to the mundane. Tully had said what she came to say, and they reached an unspoken agreement to change the subject they were both weary of.

  TWENTY-TWO

  After dinner Tully and Luke wandered back through the historic district. Savannah seemed to give him the same aimless urge to stroll as it did her. Countless nights she’d roamed these streets, most of the time too drunk to see dawn. But the nights. She owned the nights in this town.

  Dusk was falling and the streetlamps projected pools of orange light onto the sidewalk and up into the oak canopy. Lightning skittered across the thick clouds. The storm was closing in. He did it again. He always had to say something when it got quiet.

  “I’m pretty sure I just got robbed,” Luke chuckled.

  “Sorry. I thought it would be better.” She rewarded him with a little smile. It was what he wanted. He kept trying to make her smile like she was some ditzy co-ed.

  “You’ve never been there before?”

  “No. But everybody raves about the place.”

  “Damned hipsters.” He gave her side eye, hoping for another smile.

  Tully knew his type. Sullen and morose most of the time. Men like him didn’t say much to begin with, so it was strange the way he kept trying to fill the silence. The G-man couldn’t bear any quiet between them. It was sweet. And naive.

  So she smiled at him. Not sweet or coy, that she couldn’t muster, but she humored him. It made him look happy. That wasn’t what she intended when she came to see him. She didn’t want to laugh, and he was terrible at small talk. The sparks flew when they talked about deep shit, but his cracks showed when the talking stopped.

  But she had no choice. He was coming after her friend, and she was going to stop him. Anything she wanted to know she couldn’t ask outright. She couldn’t be that obvious. After years of working the street, she knew nervous talking was a gold mine of information. And if he kept blabbering, she’d find out what he had on Pete. She wouldn’t need to ask.

  Lightning flashed again. Tully hadn’t known what she was going to say when she got Agent Marshall’s contact from the Captain. And she really didn’t know why she was standing outside of his office before she even dialed the number.

  The man that walked into that station yesterday was not what she expected. The first minutes of their conversation, he’d poked around to find her button. And he found it. His questions unnerved her so much she lost her cool. Lost control.

  It happened again the same night. She spent the better part of fifteen years making sure she wasn’t caught off guard, but Marshall kept doing it. She almost took him home last night, and today she walked to his office. Now he was trying to make her smile, and she was playing along.

  Then again, someone stumbling around as drunk as Marshall when he showed up at Only’s last night must be as fucked up as her. Or maybe she was lonely. She didn’t know anymore.

  When he ambushed her at the pub, she’d been so drunk she couldn’t remember half of what he said, but she remembered his desperation. He looked sad when he talked about Pete. At the time she was grateful. The next morning, she convinced herself it was a calculated play to earn her trust. Now, as she watched him bumble around trying to make her laugh, she knew it was her play.

  “It was glass.” The words were out of her mouth before she knew it.

  Shit. That last whiskey had loosened her tongue. She meant to reel him in, but not like this. Revealing herself to this stranger was dangerous. He was ready to go to bed with her. Why did he need to know this?

  “Pardon?” He sounded surprised when she spoke.

  Too late now.

  “It was glass. A broken coffee table. I was seven.” Tully brushed her scarred cheek with her fingers. She kept walking, and silently thanked him when he looked anywhere but at her.

  She told him the story of the night her father died, deliberately downplaying the man that destroyed her family. She wasn’t ready to talk about him. Some local hick fuck was the only description she gave when Marshall asked.

  Every time she recalled her father’s death, it was the sounds that she remembered. The sound of wood splintering. Panic in her father’s voice. The final shotgun blast, and the ringing silence after. She’d never figured out why she couldn’t remember touch or smell.

  “Pretty gruesome, huh?” She looked at him, searching for a reaction.

  He didn’t give her much of one. “That explains a few things,” he said softly.

  “Ancient history.” She waved him off.

  “Our own histories are never ancient. God, what a relief that would be.”

  She stopped and turned to study him. The hardboiled federal agent waiting for her in the conference room yesterday was nowhere to be found. He looked sad. She pushed away the urge to tell him more, her whole ugly story. Even he wouldn’t be that understanding.

  “I don’t tell many people,” she continued in a hurry to cover up her hesitation. “It’s too much, and they start feeling sorry for me. Pity is the most unbearable. It’s why I moved here. Whispers are always loudest in a small town. I had to get out. So thanks for not saying you’re ‘sorry’.”

  “You mean you don’t tell that story to all your dates.” He sounded amused.

  “I don’t go on a lot of dates. Too much of a bitch, I guess.”

  “Noooo.”

  Tully punched his shoulder and heard herself laugh. He was sucking her in again, and she forgot herself. Not that he had to work hard at it. Had he been in town for any other reason, she would have gone home with him last night without a second drink. She was supposed to hate him.

  “Come on.” He was smiling again. “You’re not a bitch. Possessed by determination bordering on insanity, maybe. But not a bitch. That’s the only story anyone has on you.”

  “I attacked your partner,” she reminded him.

  Marshall laughed out loud. “I told you. That’s a normal reaction to Thaddeus. For a second, I thought about letting you do it. But if anyone was getting into a fight with the likes of you, it was going to be me.”

  “The likes of me?”

  She could tell he thought they had been wandering. He looked surprised when she made an abrupt turn by a columned mansion onto Gaston Street. His eyes flicked to Forsythe Park behind them and he realized where he was. This was farther than she brought him last night. It dawned on him that she had a destination.

  “You almost had me.” His voice softened.

  “Whatever. I wasn’t much of a match for you.” Tully couldn’t keep the shame out of her voice.

  “Says who?” He sounded surprised. “You almost broke my face.”

  Lighting ripped across the sky followed by a thunderous crack. She stopped in front of a scrolled wrought iron number ‘309’ marking a brick tunnel through the basement of two conjoined row homes. At the end of the passage, he saw another iron gate leading to a courtyard buried deep in the city’s grid.

  Their eyes met and held for a long time. This time he didn’t try to fill the silence. A chubby raindrop hit Tully in the face, and she flinched. “I’m, uh, I should get going. Thank you.” She turned to leave.

  “Can I see you again?”

  She turned back. Marshall hesitated to ask the question, and she didn’t know the answer.

  Then her eyes fell on a green mud splattered ’82 Blazer parked on the street,
and memories of her and Pete working on it crushed down on her. Or rather, of Pete working on her truck while she and Melissa drank beer in camping chairs on the driveway.

  Her head dipped as she steeled herself. “You need to stop. Whatever it is you think you’re going to find here, you’re wrong.”

  “What?”

  She squared off to him. Face your opponent. Never expose your back. “You need to stop investigating Pete.”

  “Tully, I give you my word, if there’s no evidence your partner was involved his name won’t even go in my report.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “It’s the best I can give you.”

  “No, it isn’t,” she hissed at him. Marshall’s reply was a harsh reminder of why she shouldn’t be around him. He affected her too much. Even halfway sober she was about to invite him in. “Goodbye.” The sprinkle steadied into rain as she whipped around to leave.

  “Tully, wait.” He placed a hand on her arm. She knew it was a reflex, but it felt like an attempt to hold her there. Just like at the station, she felt pleasure from his touch and fury at his attempt to control her. She knocked his hand away and glared at him.

  “Tully, please.” He was begging now. Strong, intimidating Agent Marshal reduced to wide-eyed entreaties. All because he wanted to get some.

  “I’m not convinced the drug dealer was that good of an actor.”

  She backed away. “He was a piece of shit.”

  “I know. But he was scared, and if he was there looking for a cop, I need to know who it was and why.”

  She faced him in the low light of the streetlamp. Anyone else begging like that would have earned her hate, but Marshall clearly wasn’t accustomed to begging. He was terrible at it. It sounded like an order, which made her prickle.

  Tully stood rigid and unyielding as he leaned in. If he was trying to intimidate her, it wasn’t going to work. “You won’t get that from me,” she said defiantly.

  “That’s not what I want from you.”

  The rain fell heavy now, but neither noticed. The storm was overhead now, lightning and thunder coming at the same time. Luke took her hand and pulled her into the shelter of the tunnel. The exposed bulbs at either end cast a flickering glow as the rain pounded outside.

  Tully threw off his hand. “Then what do you want? This whole circus has been nothing but you demanding what you want.” She could smell his cologne in the steamy night. He smelled like sawdust, pine needles, and whiskey. It made her angrier.

  “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Make a name for yourself and get laid,” she sneered. “You sling a good line, and I almost bought it.”

  He let her yell. The sadness on his face only stoked her fire. He was faking it. He couldn’t help why he was here, but he didn’t have to pretend he cared.

  “Well, you’re not going to get that. Not from me,” she sneered.

  “I already have.”

  She balked. “What?”

  “I can tell a lot about a person by the people they surround themselves with. Why do you think I went to dinner with you? I wanted to know what Peter Easton was like. I needed to know what his best friend was like. So yes, I got what I wanted from you.”

  Tully took a step back, reeling from his answer. On one hand, she’d pleaded Pete’s case, which obviously had some effect on the FBI Agent. On the other hand, he’d manipulated her, and she hadn’t even realized it, she was so distracted by her hormones.

  She needed to stay away from this man. But even as she thought it, her body rebelled against the idea of leaving. “You keep coming at me sideways.”

  “I’m not coming at you sideways, Tully.” He took a step toward her. “I mean everything I say. If you don’t believe anything else, you can believe that.” The conviction in his voice soothed her ragged mind.

  “Then why are you still here? If you got what you came for, why don’t you leave?” She wanted him to leave. He needed to walk away, not her. They couldn’t do this, and it wasn’t fair that she had to make that choice.

  He closed the distance between them in two strides, his hand up. He brushed away a droplet running down her jaw. Then she felt her damp hair brushed away from her face, exposing her cheek. She flinched. A strong hand snaked around the back of her neck.

  Tully felt herself shaking. She tried to tell herself it was from confusion, not fear. But the truth was, she was terrified. Terrified of how he made her feel. Of how easily he slipped past her guard. Terrified of how fast he would leave if he knew about her past.

  Gently, the hand cradling her neck pulled her closer. He seemed to be fighting the same battle in his own head, but neither of them cared anymore.

  The rough, cool brick disappeared. Rain pounding so hard it pushed a warm breeze through the passageway made no sound. She could only feel him move and hear the rustle of his shirt. Locking his arm around her waist, he pulled her roughly against him, and she let him. He kissed her hard, uncertainty replaced by hunger as she fumbled for her keys.

  TWENTY-THREE

  A loud buzz broke the sleepy fog. Luke forced his eyes open and saw his cell phone vibrating on the small desk near his side of the bed. Luke had left his phone unattended once and Thad installed the Superman symbol as his caller id. Now it flashed on the screen. It was Tuesday.

  “Shit.” Luke flipped over and came face to face with the elbow that woke him up three times last night. Tully’s naked body was tangled in the soft white sheets, an arm and a leg sprawled onto his side. The bright morning light bounced off the blond hair fanned over her pillow, wavy from drying as she slept.

  The holiday weekend came and went, and they never left the apartment. Sunday they drank whiskey and ate nothing. Monday they ordered food in so they didn’t have to leave the house or each other. That night they spent an hour together in the shower then passed out from exhaustion, finally satisfied. He couldn’t remember much after that. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he thought about the last forty-eight hours. He’d lost track of time. Of days.

  Luke ignored the phone and swung his legs over the edge. Padding to the window, he stretched and tried to stifle his yawn. For the first time, he hated the thought of going to work. Work kept him occupied. Today it would keep him from doing what he really wanted to do.

  Behind him, Tully stirred with a moan. She patted his empty pillow and lifted her head to look around. Spotting him by the window, she gave a sleepy smile and flipped over pulling the sheet to cover her bare chest. Luke took the two steps back to the side of the bed and looked down at her.

  “Hi,” he whispered.

  “Hey, G-man,” she murmured, tugging the hem of his boxer briefs.

  Before Luke knew what happened, his face was buried in the velvet curve of her neck and her fingers traced the outline of his back. The phone clunked onto the carpet still flashing a large red “S”V.

  By the time he got back to his hotel, showered and changed it was ten-thirty. Without a word, Luke walked into the office and threw his freshly pressed jacket on the back of his chair. His collar was and his tie knotted tight.

  Thaddeus sat slung back in his chair with his feet propped up, scrolling on his phone. He sported dark circles under bloodshot eyes and looked like he hadn’t slept in days. When Luke opened the door, a mischievous smile spread across his face.

  Luke sat down and faced his computer. Saying nothing seemed like the best course of action.

  Thad’s throat clear was loud. “How was your weekend?”

  “Fine. You?”

  “Pretty epic actually, since you asked. I was going to tell you about the twins, but in my humble experience whoever gets to work last had the best weekend.”

  “Grow up, Kid. You’re not in college anymore.”

  “And you’re not a virgin anymore.”

  “Funny.”

  Thad’s eagerness withered. “Really? No details? Nothing?”

  Luke’s phone vibrated. He tapped the screen quickly and set it back on the desk. Thad�
��s eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline. Luke’s impatience with anything of a cellular nature was legendary in the Bureau, and the butt of many jokes, most of them originating from Thad. He’d never seen Luke send a text.

  Thad let it go. “Alrighty then, I’ll go first. Thank god we had Monday off. Sunday was the worst day of my life. Saturday, however, is another story…”

  Luke booted up his computer and watched it blink to life. Thad’s voice faded as he tuned his young partner out.

  As much as he wanted to believe she was another blip on his radar, the scars on her body refused to sanction his self-imposed isolation. She kept fighting. He could too.

  Eight years ago, he came back from the war and started looking in a bottle for what he left somewhere in the desert. Bar brawls, panic attacks, and one-night stands with women he wouldn’t spend thirty sober seconds with burned up two years of his life. He’d lost track of the number of times he pressed his 9mm to his temple when he hit bottom, again. He didn’t dry out until an old Army buddy convinced him to join the Bureau. A fresh start, if there was such a thing for men like him.

  Some powerful people were disappointed when he refused to join the counter-terrorism division. It had been expected of him. It was the only reason they gave a booze-soaked Delta with three assaults on his record a chance. Luke was the best at what he used to do. But he wouldn’t go back to that life no matter how much he sucked at this one.

  No. There were wolves out there that didn’t remind him of his own past, so he chose to hunt them instead. It would never pay back what he owed, but it satisfied his demons. Try as he might, he would never make it off that tightrope, and he’d made his peace with that.

  So he reordered his life and made sure it was a fortress against anything that might compromise him. It held for six years until she brought it crumbling down. He craved the raw, bleeding mess under that fiery husk because it looked like his. It felt familiar, comfortable.