Uncuffed

by Dare, Michelle

  “Good. Looking up.” His eyes land right on Ashlyn’s breasts. They are completely covered by the thin white t-shirt she’s wearing, but damn they are still on display, straining against the material.

  She thrusts her ass into my groin. “Did you need something, Rowe?” she asks, without bothering to look back at me.

  My hands land on her hips as my lips brush the shell of her ear. “Get back to the table before I make you.”

  She scoffs. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “You don’t know me well enough to know what I would or wouldn’t do.” Then I turn to Hank and speak louder. “What do you think, Hank? Think I’d pick up this lovely woman and throw her over my shoulder just to prove a point?”

  “Absolutely,” he responds. “Rowe doesn’t bullshit. If he says it, he’ll do it.”

  She spins to face me, one hand resting on the bar. “Well, I’m calling your bluff, darlin’.” Her emphasis on the last word heats my veins with desire and makes me want to smack her ass at the same time. So disobedient.

  Quickly, I bend down and throw her over my shoulder. One of my arms holds her legs down while my free hand swats her ass.

  “You asshole!” she screeches.

  “I don’t play. Now you know.”

  She’s trying to kick me but not succeeding. Her fists thump against my back as I take long strides to our table. At the last minute, I decide to go past our seats to the pool tables. Luckily, one of them is empty. I drop her ass right on the table. Balls scatter as she flails before righting herself.

  Her eyes blaze with fury. “You’re a dick, you know that?”

  “Yup. Now stay here.” I point at her. Then I walk back to the bar and grab four more shots of whiskey. I don’t want to drink much, but apparently, she wants to prove a point. Fine. So be it. I won’t let her get plastered, but she’ll have a hell of a buzz by the time we leave here.

  I’m surprised to see she hasn’t left the pool table. Her eyes are on me as I walk back. I place two shots down on the wooden ledge of the table and tip one of the remaining two down my throat. She swallows both shots, one after the other, and slams them down on the green felt.

  “Hey, watch the felt,” I tell her.

  She rolls her eyes and jumps down. “Up for a game?”

  “Depends. Are we betting?” I drink down my other shot.

  “Of course we are.”

  “What are the stakes?” Oh, I can’t wait to see what she comes up with.

  She walks around the table, collecting the balls, racking them up. “If I win, you drive me back to my apartment and walk me to my door. No goodnight kiss, no good night fuck. Especially, no more caveman bullshit.”

  “Fine. And if I win, I take you back to my house and we do whatever I want. No bullshit. No smart-ass attitude.”

  She sticks out her hand, already swaying slightly on her feet. We shake, then I pull her in close so our chests are touching. “Deal,” she says breathily.

  “Your ass is mine, darlin’.”

  “In your dreams, Detective.”

  Chapter Seven

  Hope

  I open my eyes and there is too much light, so I squeeze them shut again. My head is throbbing, and my mouth is dry as hell. I sit up slowly and touch my feet to the floor—the hardwood floor. What the fuck? Where am I? Squinting, I barely open my eyes and take in my surroundings. Grey walls, dark wood floors, cherry dresser, and bed. No, no, no.

  Turning, I see Rowe still asleep beside me. Oh, fuck no. And I’m naked. I must have lost the bet. Okay, so the naked part doesn’t bother me in the least. I’m sure Mr. Detective used a condom, and even if he didn’t, I’m on the pill. That’s not my concern right now. No, I need to figure out where my clothes are, and how to get out of here, without waking him up.

  Very carefully, I slip out of bed and go on the hunt for my clothes. In the kitchen are my bra and panties. The living room is where I find my shirt and jeans. I don’t look at the room or the furnishings. I have tunnel vision and only one goal. Plus, I worry if I start looking around and see another side of Rowe, I’ll like him even more. I don’t need that right now.

  As I pass the front door, I see my boots and decide to wait to put them on until I’m dressed and on my way out. Walking down the hall to a guest bathroom, I notice a picture on the wall that catches my eye. I tell myself not to bother looking at it, or the one next to it, but my curiosity gets the better of me. That’s when I see him—the man who came to my front door to tell me my parents were dead. And the name on the police uniform he’s wearing says, “Falk.” Oh. My. God.

  No, it can’t be. Rowe doesn’t look anything like this man. But then my eyes swing right and the picture beside it is almost identical. The man in that one is older, slightly greying hair, “Falk” on his uniform. Holy fuck. So that means his brother was the one who broke the news to me.

  Standing in the hall, my jeans and shirt in one hand, bra and panties in the other, staring at this picture, Rowe emerges from the bedroom. This just went from holy shit to nuclear. I try to tamp down my feelings, and Rowe’s body is the perfect distraction. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of hunter green boxer briefs. His muscular frame is on full display. For a split second, I forget everything except for him and the way he is watching me as he walks up the hallway.

  “That’s my dad,” he says, nodding to the picture on the right. “He died before I graduated from the police academy. The other one is my brother. He died in the line of duty.”

  I face the pictures again. I can’t help but stare at the one of his brother. My hands shake as I hold my clothes. A sweat breaks out on my forehead, and I’m fighting tears. I have to say something. I can’t run from the house naked, especially since I don’t have my car.

  “You don’t look like them,” I finally get out with a shaky breath.

  “No, I take after my mom. She left when I was little. I haven’t seen her since.”

  My heart shatters for him. I know all too well what it’s like not to have your parents anymore. Emotion clogs my throat, but I shove it down and whisper, “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. My dad did a great job of raising my brother and me. I couldn’t have asked for a better role model.”

  I nod, then glance over Rowe’s shoulder to see where the bathroom is. He must understand what I’m trying to find. “Second door on the right.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter as I brush past him.

  I close the door and lean against it for a moment while I try to collect myself. I can’t go back out there with tears brimming in my eyes. After taking a few deep breaths and releasing them slowly, I toss my clothes on the bathroom counter and pee before getting dressed fast.

  Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. This is all becoming too real. My past is colliding with my present, and I don’t like it at all. I’m still fighting tears as I wash my hands and smooth down my hair. There’s no chance of getting this panic attack to go away. Not now. Not after seeing his brother and having that day rush back to the front of my mind. The very worst day of my life.

  Rowe is sitting on the arm of the couch, fully dressed, when I exit the bathroom. He smiles and I am barely able to return it. “Do you want something to eat?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “No. My stomach isn’t feeling too great.”

  He stands, and that’s when I notice he’s holding a glass of water and two small, white pills. He holds them out to me along with the glass. “Take these.” I eye him skeptically. “They’re acetaminophen. Nothing more.”

  I take them and down the entire glass of water. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. Hopefully, this will help dull the sharp, stabbing pain behind my eyes. Fucking whiskey shots. I easily had eight of them last night. We played multiple games of pool, snacked on bar food, and I kept drinking. Rowe, on the other hand, only had water after those two initial shots he took. He was busy looking out for me while I was drinking myself into oblivion.

  “Did we…last night?” I woke up naked, so I’m assu
ming we did, but who the hell knows.

  “No. You passed out the second you hit my bed.”

  “Ah.” I glance around the room, not really looking at anything, but not wanting to meet Rowe’s eyes.

  “Come on. I’ll take you home.” Thank God! At least I didn’t have to ask him.

  The drive to my apartment seems like it takes hours. We don’t talk. We sit in the most uncomfortable silence. I don’t breathe a sigh of relief until he finally pulls up to my apartment.

  Before I can open the door, Rowe reaches for my hand. “I’m not sure what this thing is between us,” he says. His face is only inches from mine. “But I’m not ready to let it go. I want to keep seeing you.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “I know this is scary as hell. Neither one of us is the commitment type, but how can you deny this?”

  I peer out the passenger side window and say, “I don’t feel the same way you do.” The words are bitter on my tongue and pain hits my chest, knowing I’m hurting him.

  “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  I turn to him. “No, what I know is that I was fine before you came along, and you keep pulling me out of my comfort zone. I like my life. I like how things were before you entered it. I don’t need any complications.” Yes, it’s harsh, but maybe it will get him to keep his distance.

  “That’s what you consider me? A complication?”

  “Yes,” I reply with a steady voice, then I open the door. It’s for the best. I’m leaving anyway.

  Purse in hand, I don’t look back as I take the stairs to the brownstone. Once inside my apartment, I grab my suitcase and do a final sweep of the apartment, ensuring I grab all the stashed money to take with me. With a quick glance out the window to make sure Rowe has left, I walk out of the apartment and close the door behind me. I had planned on leaving the money on the counter, but instead decide to slip the envelope under my landlord’s door, along with my keys.

  Sticking to the alley, I make my way down two blocks to where I have my car parked. I never park it out front of where I’m living. I also rarely drive it unless I absolutely need to. If people don’t know what kind of car I drive or where I live, it’s harder for them to find me. But Rowe…Rowe was a mistake. I should have never allowed him into my place. I should have never allowed him into my heart.

  I won’t forget the way his voice sounded the moment before I got out of the car. But with that voice comes his brother and Rowe’s knowledge of what I really look like. And in the town he lives are men I’ve stolen from. No, it’s all too close. All too real and I want nothing to do with it.

  I toss my suitcase in the trunk of my silver Honda Accord and start the drive home. My car is average. Silver is a popular color. It blends with the other cars on the road. I’ll probably stay at home for a week, tops, before I find a new city to go to and new targets to hit. It takes a bit of research on my part before I put a plan together. I don’t just jump to a new city and find victims once I get there. No, I search towns with wealthy men and women who are close to my age. I find single people who have tons of social media pictures of them drinking and have different women hanging on their arms.

  The women I go after are more loner types, who don’t live with their parents anymore, but it’s obvious they are still receiving money from them by how they are living. Lots of money funneling into their bank accounts. These are women who would take to someone like me, who doesn’t act like every other person out there. I pretend not to care about their wealth. In fact, when I first meet them, I act like I haven’t a clue who they are.

  The women and men like the idea of becoming friends or lovers with someone who isn’t familiar with, nor knows, how much money they have. I can’t blame them. If I were that wealthy, I’d be suspicious of everyone, too. Money changes people. It did me. And not for the better.

  We all have our demons. Mine are just bigger than others’, and they don’t fit in a closet. Mine are in my face daily, begging me to do something huge so I can get my next rush. So I can feel like I’m alive again and thrill in the fact I’m wealthy, even for a short period.

  I can’t blow my money all in one place, unless I’m buying something big like a car or a boat. Yes, I have a boat docked out in California at a marina near another house my parents owned. I couldn’t let it go. It was our vacation home and one which holds so many amazing memories.

  I don’t live there, though I could. Instead, I use it as an investment property. I rent it out to the wealthy in exchange for them paying me a ton to stay there and enjoy the views and amenities it has to offer. I go there one week a year. Always in the summer. I feel closer to my parents when I’m in that house. Wonderful memories of my childhood come back to me, and for a moment, I pretend they are still here. Just like I do at this home during the holidays. I will always find my way back here at Thanksgiving and Christmas. I guess no matter how much I’ve changed and how wrong the life I lead is, I still want those things in my life.

  Then my mind drifts to Rowe and how maybe if I wasn’t a thief and wasn’t always on the run, I could have settled down with him. We could have made our own traditions. Christmas curled up in front of a fire. New Year’s Eve, toasting and making love throughout the night. But I can’t let my mind go there. It will only make my anxiety worse and cause me to rethink everything I’m doing. Even if I were to give it all up, I couldn’t have someone like him. He’s the opposite of who I should be with. If I go down one day, I’d never want to take him with me.

  Chapter Eight

  Rowe

  I’m fuming as I drive back to my house. How could she walk away and dismiss everything between us? No, we haven’t known each other long, but who fucking cares? A day, a week, a month, a year—sometimes you just know. You fit with another person. I’ve been trying to fight it. Trying to deny every urge my body has where she’s concerned. But I want her. I want her so fucking badly. She can keep pushing me away, but I’m not giving up.

  On the way home, I decide to stop by work. I took a picture of Ashlyn at the bar last night when she wasn’t paying attention and another one while she was sleeping. She was so sweet and peaceful. I had to capture the moment. Little did I know she would run away from whatever we have before it got started.

  Last night, I was lying in bed, unable to sleep, and thinking over everything about Ashlyn. Her apartment is bare. Like the sparsest space I’ve ever seen someone live in, and I’ve seen a lot of shit being a detective. Add to that how evasive she is every time I try to get any information about her life from her. She didn’t want to go out with me last night, but I can tell she feels something between us.

  She was pissed when she threw my clothes at me that first night. Then there was the hesitation at the diner and the bar when we walked in. The way she looked at the pictures of my dad and brother in my hallway. She had unshed tears in her eyes. I saw them. She tried to swallow everything down, but it was there, just brimming below the surface.

  Once inside the building, I wave to a couple of the guys working and take a seat at my desk. It’s not uncommon for me to come in on my days off. When I’m not working, I don’t have much of a life outside of the bar scene. I dedicate a lot of time to my job.

  I load up the picture of Ashlyn in the database to see if there are any matches to her. Our department was recently upgraded to state-of-the-art equipment. We also participate in a larger database, so accessing this kind of information is a lot easier than it used to be. The scan stops on someone who looks a hell of a lot like Ashlyn. Someone who has a record for petty theft when she was eighteen. Hope Hayes. Except Hope has dark brown hair, not black. No piercing or tattoos either, but everything else is exact. The shape of her eyes, the color of them. The same lips, nose, and cheekbones. Holy fuck. Either she has a twin, or Ashlyn is Hope.

  I type in Hope Hayes and search the Internet. Then my world comes crashing down. A news article appears and I’m suddenly transported back in time. I remember thi
s distinctly. My brother told me. He said it was the first time he’d ever told someone news like that. He’d been the one to go to Hope’s house to inform her that her parents were dead. No wonder she stared at the picture of him in the hallway. Of course she would remember the person who delivered that awful news to her. It all makes sense now. The evasiveness, the mystery, Ashlyn didn’t want me to know who she really was. But why? I continue to search and see she had no brothers or sisters. I write down her last known address, which is in the same town my brother lived and worked in. I’m going to stop by her apartment first, but my guess is that she’s gone. If that’s the case, I’m taking a road trip. I have to figure this out.

  I don’t bother going home to get a change of clothes in case I have to crash at a hotel tonight. I don’t bother taking anything with me at all, except for what I currently have on and what’s already in my car. At her place, I buzz her apartment first. No answer. Then I pick one of the other two. No answer. Finally, the last apartment, someone responds. I tell him I’m a detective and need to be let in. He’s the landlord and waits for me to show my badge before allowing me access. He tries to ask me what I want, but I brush past him.

  Upstairs, I bang on the door to her apartment but no one answers. Then I hear the landlord clear his throat at the bottom of the stairs. “She’s no longer living here,” he says.

  Jogging down the stairs, I stop when I reach him. “Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. He’s short, his hair receding, and smells like stale pizza and beer.

  “Can I see a copy of her lease?”

  “No lease. She paid cash every month, always on time. As long as she paid, she could live here, no questions asked.”

  “Shit,” I mutter. “Are you sure you don’t know where she went?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope, and she didn’t cause no trouble while she was here. Very quiet and friendly.”

  “Good to know. Thank you for your time.”

  The drive to her house is boring as hell, but I keep myself busy by running scenario after scenario through my mind, trying to figure out why she’d give me a fake name. If I wouldn’t have matched her picture to an older criminal record, I doubt I would have found her. It’s like she’s a ghost. Obviously, she wants it that way, but why?