Rev (Jack 'Em Up #4)

by Shauna Allen

  I forced myself to stand still as he brushed past and opened the fridge then the freezer. He glanced at me. “Have you eaten?”

  I thought back to the peanut butter crackers I’d inhaled right before my shower. “Not really.”

  “How about I cook you dinner? Something decidedly not healthy.”

  “Wow, you sure know the way to a woman’s heart.” We smiled into each other’s eyes, and for the first time, I saw the real Micah I’d always known was underneath all that mystery and angst.

  We chatted about nothing in particular while he pulled out the ingredients for our meal. He waved off my offer of help and poured me a glass of wine instead. I tugged myself up on the countertop and watched him work around my kitchen, his movements concise, frugal, and efficient. Eventually, the scent of chicken fettuccini alfredo and garlic bread filled up my small apartment, making my mouth water.

  He poured us both more wine and we sat at my tiny table to eat. He lifted his glass. “Cheers.”

  One bite of his pasta and I nearly professed my love. “God,” I moaned around my fork. “This is so good.”

  His hot gaze about ate me up, which confused the hell out of me. I wasn’t used to men, particularly men who looked like him, doing anything but looking right through me.

  I took another bite and searched for a neutral conversation starter. “Tell me about your family.”

  For a minute, I didn’t think he’d answer, but I was quickly learning that Micah was right when he said he wasn’t much of a talker, so I just gave him space. He was opening up to me more than I’d ever dreamed possible and I loved that he felt at ease. Like a wheel just spinning again after being greased, he began to speak. He told me about his three brothers, Adam, Nathaniel, and Ethan, all younger, and how he’d tormented them growing up.

  I laughed. “I have three brothers, too, so I know exactly what you’re talking about, except I was the one being tortured. John, the one who’s here, was the nicest. Sometimes.”

  He laughed. “Did you grow up around here?”

  I shook my head. “We lived here for a while when I was younger, but I mostly grew up in Florida.” I toyed with the stem of my wine glass. “Where is your family from?”

  “I’m a military brat. My dad was in the Marines, too. He was stationed in Hawaii briefly, where he met my mom.”

  “Ah, that explains the dark good looks.” I waved my glass in the general direction of his head. My body was light and tingly from the alcohol and my tongue loose, obviously. I cringed, but he just bit back a shy smile with another bite of pasta.

  My loose tongue, along with a boatload of patience, paid off, and I learned a few things I never knew about the infamously close-lipped Micah Christian. First, he was a jock in high school (no surprise), he was a tank gunner in Afghanistan, his favorite indulgence was chocolate milkshakes, and he could dance.

  Now, of course he didn’t tell me that, exactly. No. When I rose to take our dishes to the sink, I detoured on my way back to crank up the stereo when Sam Smith came on. Next thing I knew, I was being spun and tucked into his arms, where he swayed me like we’d been doing it our whole lives.

  I stared up at him, stunned, but I held on for dear life, loving the hard contours of his body pressed against mine. I sighed and leaned into him, tucking my head into his shoulder as he tightened his hold and spun me gently.

  I thought I felt him press the softest of kisses to my head, but it was probably just a wine-induced fantasy.

  The song came to an end, but he didn’t let me go. I raised my face to his and breathed him in. We’d never been this close, and the ocean-fresh scent of his skin was a heady thing. “Thanks for the dance,” I whispered.

  His eyes dropped to my lips, raised again. “My pleasure.”

  I would’ve sworn he was about to kiss me, but instead, he brushed my face with his hand, moving to tuck some hair behind my ear. My world was spiraling out of control as sensations crashed into me like a restless ocean. I might not have ever admitted it out loud, but he was all I’d dreamed of in a man for so long. A living, breathing dream, he had no idea how badly I wanted him to tuck me into his heart for safekeeping. The thought was terrifying.

  He loosened his hold, but didn’t release me when I tried to pull back. My gaze flew up to his.

  “You are beautiful,” he said, his words reverent.

  I almost believed him.

  I had breakfast with my brother the next day and the dark circles under his eyes told on him. I eyed his wrinkled T-shirt and mussed hair. “How much did you drink last night?”

  He cringed and gingerly sipped his coffee. “Too much.”

  “Can I fix you a Bloody Mary? Hair of the dog?”

  He paled. “You are a mean sister, you know that?”

  I pointed my fork at his plate. “Eat your toast. It’ll help.”

  He obeyed and took a small nibble.

  “So what are your plans while you’re here? I’d love to stay home with you, but I’ve gotta work then I’ve got a party tonight. I’m sure you could come with—”

  He waved me off. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll probably head to the beach. Maybe catch up with some old friends at a fourth of July barbecue.”

  “Friends who drink less, I hope?”

  A half-smile tilted his lips. “Yes.”

  “Girl friends?”

  His gaze snapped to mine. “Let’s not do this, okay?”

  “Do what?”

  “Make this the Kim Show. It’s over, end of story. I’m only here a couple days. Can we just let it go? For now?”

  I heard the heartbreak lining his words. I knew, better than most, the need to get away from a situation. “Sure.”

  He smiled. “Thanks, sis.”

  I finished my breakfast and kissed his head. “You stink. Get a shower.” I ignored his snarky reply as I slammed out for work.

  At the precinct, I had an appointment with one of the earlier rape victims to see if she had any more input on the sketch of the suspect since hers had been the vaguest initially. Nobody would say it in so many words, but it was obvious the entire department was getting antsy as the perpetrator seemed to be getting more and more violent and ballsy, raping his last victim in broad daylight at a park.

  “Hey, Treena,” I said to the timid woman in front of me.

  Her hand had a fine tremble as she picked up her coffee cup and sipped, forcing a smile for my benefit. “Hi.”

  “Look, I know the detectives asked you to come back, but if you’re not up for it, that’s perfectly okay.”

  She swallowed and set her cup down. “No. It’s fine. If I can help catch him somehow, I’m all for it.”

  “All right. But if you need to stop at any time, just let me know.”

  She nodded and I started by pulling out the original sketch I’d made with her all those months ago.

  After a deep breath, she plucked it up like it would burn her and studied it. Tears flooded her eyes, but she continued to stare as if to dare him to hurt her again.

  “Is that still how you remember him?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, setting it back down. “I guess.”

  “Let’s just focus on one feature at a time,” I suggested, trying to be professional though my heart was suddenly fluttering in my chest. “His eyes?”

  Squinting, she focused again. Somehow, I knew what she was going to say before she said it. “Deeper maybe? They’re the right color.”

  I altered them a bit, including the thicker brows without saying anything. When I showed her, she nodded.

  The more we tweaked him to resemble the last image I’d penciled, the more I had to hold the panic at bay. It was getting harder and harder to not see Nolan in these drawings and convince myself that I wasn’t absolutely insane. He would have no way to know where I was. If he did, he wouldn’t have stayed away from me all these months. Yet, with each blond victim and each horrifying detail, it was all beginning to feel very, very personal.

  We fin
ished up and I spent the rest of my day helping the detectives get the updated images to the proper files and fielding hotline calls, which I did when my artist skills weren’t needed.

  “Hey, Jewel.”

  I peered up as Officer Varga ambled my way, an open smile gracing his face. “Hi. How was your day?”

  He shrugged and rested a hip on the desk next to me. “Nothing too exciting, which is pretty good in my book for a holiday weekend.”

  I recalled Treena’s traumatized expression. “I’d guess so.”

  “So, I was wondering—”

  My phone rang and interrupted him. I held up a finger and answered. “Baybridge Police Department. How can I help you?”

  I directed the call to the proper extension then focused on Officer Varga. “Sorry. What was that?”

  He actually flushed. “I was wondering if you had plans tonight?”

  I frowned. Surely he wasn’t . . . he could not be asking me out. “I . . .”

  “Sorry, that wasn’t very eloquent,” he said with a shrug. “What I meant to say was I’ve really enjoyed working with you these past months and I would love to take you out on a date to get to know you more. If you’re interested, that is.”

  I snapped my mouth shut. “Oh. Well. That’s very nice.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “No, sorry. I have plans tonight.”

  He frowned. “This weekend then?”

  God, I hated to let him down. He’d been nothing but nice to me, but I just . . . well, I didn’t feel any sparks. Not like the kind Micah detonated in me. Still, I was about to say yes, just because I was a coward, when the door swung open and Delilah came bustling in with her kids in tow. I’d never been happier to see anyone in my life.

  “Delilah,” I said a little too loudly.

  She smiled when she spotted me and made her way over with a polite nod for Officer Varga. “Thank God I found you. Are you almost off?”

  I checked the clock. “Five minutes.”

  “Praise God.” She sighed and plopped down in the chair next to me, plunking the carrier car seat on the ground and hoisting Molly into her lap. “I need your help. This party is turning into a lot of work that is more than I can handle with these two today.”

  Officer Varga tipped his head to me in a silent goodbye and sauntered away.

  I focused back on my cousin. “Bad day?”

  Molly whined and leaned into her mother’s chest. “Someone’s not feeling well. Makes putting together her father’s surprise party nearly impossible.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Will you pick up the cake and help me decorate?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’m sure I’ll come up with more stuff later. Rachel and Tori are coming to help, too, so we’ll have reinforcements. At least Micah will be there. He’s great with the kids.”

  “He is, isn’t he?”

  She jostled Molly and stroked her hair. “Oh, yeah. He’s the best. Sometimes I think he likes kids more than adults. I’ve shamelessly foisted babysitting duties on him at more than one function. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to mind.”

  “Lucky you.” It made perfect sense. He was a loner, but I was beginning to see what made him tick and could understand how the simple innocence of children would appeal to someone so emotionally wounded. From what I could tell, he never spoke of his time in Afghanistan. That made me wonder how horrid it truly was, but all the more determined to be his friend. Maybe he’d open up to me one day.

  I locked up my desk, turned the calls over to the night dispatcher, grabbed my purse and followed Delilah outside.

  “So, who’s Officer McHottie?” she asked with a smirk as I helped her load up the babies.

  “Officer who?”

  “Oh, come on. The cutie who was all in your space just a minute ago.” She made circling motions with her hands in front of my body.

  “That’s Officer Varga, and he was not.”

  She lifted a brow in disbelief then turned to buckle Molly into her car seat. “Whatever you say, Cleopatra.”

  I bit my lip.

  She stood and faced me. “What is it?”

  “He asked me out.”

  Her blue eyes bugged wide. “Seriously? What did you say?”

  “I said no.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I have plans tonight. You know, Blake’s party.” I diverted by digging for my truck keys in my purse.

  “With the way he was looking at you, I’m pretty sure he would’ve taken a raincheck.”

  Sigh. “I don’t want a raincheck.”

  “No?”

  “No. Now, let’s go. This party won’t throw itself.”

  Thankfully, she let it go. We split up and I headed to the bakery while she took the kids home.

  “Thank God you’re here,” Rachel said as she ushered me inside Delilah’s house half an hour later. “Dee’s about to go crazy in here and the guys will be bringing Blake soon.”

  I slid the cake onto the kitchen counter.

  “Hey.” A very pregnant Tori peered up from her post at the stove, stirring what smelled to be chili dip.

  “How can I help?”

  Delilah bustled in, her hair in wild disarray and something that resembled strained carrots staining her T-shirt. “I don’t know.” She spun in a circle at a loss.

  I grabbed her shoulders. “Stop. Who has Blake right now?”

  “I think Jesse and Micah. Trace snuck out of work early to get the liquor.”

  “Okay. I’ll take care of it.” I spun her toward the hallway. “Go shower and change into something suitable for a fourth of July surprise party for the love of your life. I’ve got this.” I’m not sure where this take-charge person came from, but I kinda liked her, especially when Delilah slinked off without argument and Rachel and Tori smiled in gratitude.

  I grabbed my cell phone and dialed Micah.

  “Hello?” His deep voice had goosebumps breaking out all over my body.

  “Hey, it’s Jewel.”

  “Oh. Hey.” He seemed surprised to hear from me.

  “Sorry to bug you, but do you have the package?”

  “Huh?”

  “Blake.”

  “Right. As a matter of fact, I do.” There was a smile in his voice.

  “Where are you now?”

  “Uh . . .”

  I could hear Blake in the background and knew Micah was afraid to say too much. “Ten minutes away?”

  “Less.”

  “Five?”

  “Maybe.”

  Shit. “Can you stall somehow? Give us maybe another half hour? Delilah’s about to have a coronary because things aren’t perfect yet. Bad kid day.”

  “Right. No problem.”

  I gave the girls a thumbs up. “You’re the best. See you soon.”

  We hung up and the three of us got busy while the kids played quietly and Delilah showered. By the time she joined us in fresh clothes and clean hair, she looked like a whole new person. I handed her a soda. “It’s all good. We have twenty more minutes.”

  “How did you manage that?” She popped a chip in her mouth. I was glad to see her relaxed again.

  “I asked a little birdie to divert for a few minutes. No big deal.”

  “Perfect. Thanks so much.” She plucked up a now crying Declan. “That gives me time to feed my son before my boobs explode.”

  “We wouldn’t want that to happen,” Rachel said with a giggle.

  We got back to work and had everything perfect just as Delilah and Declan reappeared and the rumble of an engine hit the driveway.

  Micah

  No sooner had I hung up with Jewel, then my cell rang again with an unknown number. I mumbled excuses to the guys that I needed to grab something from my apartment then answered the phone and diverted in the opposite direction.

  “Hello?”

  “Corporal?”

  The gritty voice had me sitting taller as grating memories rushed my brain, stealing
my breath. I’d know that voice anywhere. “Sarg?”

  “That’s Gunnery Sergeant Dempsey to you, Corporal.” There was a smile in his voice, but even I knew it was tempered by the nightmare we shared. “How the hell are ya?”

  “I’m fine. You?” As nice as it was to hear from my old sergeant, it left my skin tingling, my senses on heightened alert. Just like the last time I’d seen him.

  “Good. Thanks.”

  I stopped at a red light and glanced at Blake. He was busy texting away. Probably telling his wife we were on our way so he could shower. Little did he know our ‘boys night out’ was about to become his own birthday party.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m heading down to your neck of the woods to go deep sea fishing with my dad. I was hoping to stop by and see you. Got something I want to talk to you about if you have time.”

  “Of course I have time. When?” I didn’t really have any friends besides Blake, Jesse, and Trace. It was simply too painful to keep up with anyone from my military days other than Sarg and Asher Creed, an Army guy I met at basecamp who shared my love of martial arts. Soldiers and Marines don’t usually mix well, but he was pretty fucking cool. He and Dempsey were the only two I made exceptions for in my non-military life.

  “Tomorrow?”

  I shook my head with a half-smile. Last minute on everything . . . that was so like Sarg. “I’ll be around.”

  “Awesome.”

  “I’ll shoot you a text with my address.”

  “Okay.” His silence felt deliberate. “How are you, Micah? Seriously.”

  I blinked hard and turned into my apartment parking lot. “I’m fine.”

  “Yeah. You and me both. See ya tomorrow.”

  We hung up as I parked and I killed the engine and let my head drop.

  “Everything okay, man?” Jesse asked from the backseat.

  “Yeah. It’s all good.” I met his concerned face in the rearview mirror. “Just an old friend. Be right back.” I loped from the Jeep before they could question me further and made motions of doing something in my apartment to kill time.

  I hadn’t seen Gunnery Sergeant Wyatt Dempsey since Afghanistan. All I could conjure now was the image of his face, torn up with anguish like I’d never seen, smeared with blood that wasn’t his own, as he knelt over a mangled pile of meat. It took a moment, but I’d realized numbly that it was not an animal. It was Johnny Franks. Missing an arm, his face shredded with shrapnel, I’d never seen a body so desecrated. Even by the enemy. His flesh was so scorched, the young private was unrecognizable, his tattered nametag the only thing giving him away. He was clearly dead, and with those injuries, it was probably a blessing, but still, Sarg yelled and cursed at him to wake up, his fingers sliding through blood as he felt for a pulse.