More: A Body Work Novel (The Body Work Trilogy Book 4)

by Sierra Kincade

  “Sorry, it’s just me.” A woman’s timid voice carried over the lot from the cars. Amy recognized the sound, and lowered the pepper spray immediately. Originally she’d assumed the figure had been male due to its size, but now that she stepped out from between the vehicles, Amy could see she’d been wrong.

  “Val?” She glanced one last time to the alley before deciding the source of her vigilance had been her red-haired client. She wore sunglasses now, large enough to cover half her cheeks, and though her black sweater seemed a bit warm for the seventy degree weather, she looked much the same as always.

  Val moved closer, and Amy closed the distance to meet her near the tailgate of the Subaru.

  “I’m sorry,” said Val. “I should have made an appointment.”

  “Is something wrong with your cut?” Amy asked, realizing it was more than a little strange to be standing in the back parking lot with a client.

  “No, I...” Val inhaled, and when she breathed out, laughed.

  And then sobbed.

  “Val, what’s wrong?” Amy stepped closer immediately, holding the woman’s elbows in her hands. “What happened?”

  “I couldn’t go through the front. I’m sorry. I just remembered what you said, and...” She bit her lower lip so hard it turned white and Amy was afraid she might draw blood. “He’s next door waiting. I told him I had an appointment to get my nails done.”

  Amy glanced in the direction of the bar, remembering what Val had said about her husband bringing her to the last appointment. Remembering that Danny had claimed he’d been there as well. Apparently O’Malley’s only catered to losers and assholes.

  “It’s all right,” said Amy. “Take a deep breath, count to three, and say it.”

  Val sucked in a ragged breath, and three seconds later, took off her glasses.

  The welt was so large, Amy wasn’t sure how the glasses had covered it. Red and brown, it blossomed from her cheekbone like a mangled rose, the edges already tinged with the purple of the bruise yet to come. The makeup she’d tried to apply just made it worse. Her eye was bloodshot and looked like it might have some serious damage. Amy couldn’t stop herself from wincing in sympathy, or closing her eyes to feel the much deeper pity that followed.

  “Clumsy me,” said Val flatly. “I slipped in the shower.”

  Amy nodded, understanding that this was what Val was supposed to tell people.

  “I didn’t know where else to go,” Val said. She gave a watery laugh. “We’re not even friends.”

  “Yes, we are,” said Amy. “We’re friends, and I’m going to help you.”

  “How?” Val sounded hopeless, a feeling Amy remembered all too well. She helped her client ease down to sit on her bumper.

  Val glanced to the alley between the pub and the salon, where Amy swore she had heard something, but then glanced away. Her client’s husband was just beyond the brick wall, waiting like the snake he was. She had half a mind to call the police on his sorry ass, but wouldn’t risk it while Val was still so physically close.

  “We’ll start with the hospital,” said Amy.

  “It’s not bad,” said Val, in a way that made Amy think she meant to add: This time.

  “Your eye...”

  “Is fine.”

  Val wasn’t going to budge on this. Amy wasn’t sure if it was pride or something else that kept her from going to the hospital, but it wasn’t worth pushing. The wound was recent, which meant the danger might still be very real for Val.

  “You can’t go home,” said Amy.

  “My daughter’s at home,” she said. “Well, she’s out with her boyfriend. I can’t leave her.”

  Amy had thought through the same scenario before, and that likeness alone raised within her an overwhelming need to do whatever she could to help the other woman.

  “We’ll get her,” said Amy. “And then we’ll get you a restraining order.”

  Val tilted forward, back hunching, face hidden in her hands. “You don’t understand. I can’t go to the cops. I can’t.”

  “You can,” said Amy. “I’ll help you.”

  “I can’t,” said Val with finality. “There’s too much...I know too much. If he goes down, I go down, that’s what he always says. I’ve got Kelly to think about.”

  “Goes down for what?” asked Amy. It sounded like Val’s husband may have been into something other than gas stations.

  Val shook her head. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

  Amy felt like she was walking on the edge of a knife. One wrong word and she’d fall. If someone had told her this, been this direct, she didn’t know what she would have done. Probably run the opposite way.

  Or maybe she would have trusted them, knowing full well she could no longer trust even herself.

  She hoped to God Val would trust her.

  “I glad you came here,” said Amy, feeling the other woman’s urgency. “Let’s call your daughter. We’ll tell her to meet us at the police station.”

  “You’re not listening!” Val shouted suddenly, her voice echoing off the brick on the back of the salon. “He will kill me.”

  The truth in her voice made Amy’s stomach roil like it was filled with rusty nails. She’d never thought Danny would actually kill her, even in the heat of the moment. But Jonathan had been a different story. From the moment he’d told Amy to get in his car, Amy had known that her death was a very real possibility. And now, looking at Val, she knew this woman believed the same.

  “Val, if you don’t file charges, he might kill you anyway.” Amy knew she was reaching, but knew she’d hit the mark when Val went still. “What happens if he goes after Kelly?”

  Val swore under her breath.

  “I know a cop,” Amy said. “He’s a friend. He can be discreet.”

  She had Marcos’s number saved in her phone. Anna had texted it to her the other day so that she could invite him to the bachelorette party.

  Val was very still, like she wasn’t even breathing.

  “He can meet us somewhere else,” Amy tried. “Somewhere more private.”

  A car honked from the street on the front side of the building, making them both jump.

  “Did you go to him? When you were...” Val didn’t finish her sentence, but sat taller, and replaced her glasses. “I’ve got to get out of here. This isn’t the safest place for me right now.”

  Amy bit the inside of her lip. Nowhere was safe when you were afraid.

  “Val, I didn’t go to anybody for help. But I wish I would have.” She put a gentle hand on her client’s back. “If I’d known this cop then, I might have gone to him though. Not too long ago he saved my best friend’s life.”

  Amy was frantically trying to think of other options, feeling that this one too was about to be rejected, but Val said, in a quiet voice, “How? How did he help her?”

  Amy sat beside Val on the bumper, and the car bounced a little.

  “There was a man—he wasn’t all together. He tried to hurt her.” Us, Amy almost said. Me. But Jonathan Marshall’s story was too long and Amy felt the need to act quickly. “My cop friend shot him.”

  Val was quiet for a long moment, and in that time, Amy thought about how much bigger Val was physically, but how fear had made her fold in on herself, until she felt like a small child sitting beside Amy on the edge of the car.

  “Can you call him?”

  “Yes,” said Amy. “And I’ll stay with you until it’s done.”

  “Thank you,” said Val.

  ***

  Three hours later, Amy finally returned to Mike’s house. She’d texted him that a client was going over, but spared the details. Val deserved that much privacy, anyway.

  As Amy had promised, Marcos had met them at the station and walked Val through the paperwork. Val’s daughter had come, though unsurprisingly, her boyfriend had bailed. Amy suspected that had something to do with the smell of pot on both of them.

  Marcos hadn’t commented on that.

  But before Am
y had left, he had commented on something else.

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about your husband, Ms. Connolly?” Marcos has asked her. “Anything at all that might help us protect you?”

  There was clearly something he wasn’t saying, and Val seemed to know what it was, because she very abruptly ended their discussion by claiming she needed a smoke break. Though Amy didn’t fully understand, she suspected it had to do with the reason Val had been afraid to go to the police in the first place.

  After Marcos had written down the assault charges, he’d walked Val through the process of filing a restraining order, and told her she’d need to sign the paperwork in the morning at the courthouse. Her daughter had cried, but hadn’t stormed out, and when the conversation turned to options of where they would go now, Amy suggested the Haven House, where she often took her donations. Val had agreed to try it, only taking her daughter and the clothes on their backs.

  As Amy watched them drive away, she felt a twisted kind of relief. Val had done the right thing to protect herself and her daughter, but not knowing where Val was going, or if she would be okay—if they would even ever talk again—was hard.

  Amy walked into Mike’s house, greeted by the smell of French fries and chicken. She kicked off her shoes, set down her purse, and listened outside the kitchen for a full two minutes while the girls laughed at something Mike had said. While the minutes passed, the ugliness of the past hours loosened its claws. Soon she was smiling, and then laughing right along with them.

  When she came around the corner, Mike rose, and she walked straight into his arms. She fit against his body, and he held her like it was the most natural thing in the world. He seemed to absorb her troubles, until soon she felt as light as a feather.

  “Hi,” she said with a smile.

  “Don’t start that again,” he warned, eyes glimmering. “I’ve got a midterm, and if you keep flirting with me I won’t be able to get out the door.”

  “Well, I guess you’d better focus,” she said, deliberately putting a little more swing in her step as she crossed the kitchen to kiss the girls.

  He watched her through what was left of dinner, unashamed that she might catch him. She wished he didn’t have to leave, even if just for a little while.

  When he asked what everyone had learned that day, Paisley told him she wanted a bird. A parrot had been brought to their class for show and tell, and Chloe and she spent the next ten minutes repeating phrases back and forth.

  Amy shared that she’d had a long day and couldn’t wait to take a nice long bubble bath and get in bed. Mike shared that his new favorite book was Where the Wild Things Are.

  She shook her head when he grinned at her.

  He was gone to class before she’d cleared the table, and the girls flew around the house, arguing over what color their new pet bird would be. She had to go back into their room three separate times to tell them to go to sleep.

  For a moment she considered actually getting them a pet, something they could take care of together. But that felt like putting the cart before the horse, even for she and Mike.

  She’d anticipated putting on something sexy—maybe a slip dress or something—but by the time all her mom duties were done, she could hear the rumble of Mike’s truck pulling back into the driveway. He must have finished his test early.

  Still cleaning the kitchen, she considered running upstairs to freshen her makeup, but was too late. He came in through the garage door, wearing jeans that hugged the long muscles of his legs and a collared shirt that made her think about popping the buttons off one by one.

  He smiled when he saw her, and she forgot all about touching up her lipstick.

  “How was your test?” she asked.

  “Good, I think,” he said. “I’ve got another one tomorrow night.”

  “So should we celebrate now or later?”

  The house was finally quiet, not a peep from upstairs, but the space between them was humming. She set down the rag she’d been holding on the kitchen sink and leaned back against the counter. The kitchen island was between them, but neither moved around it.

  “That depends. What did you have in mind?” he asked.

  She shrugged, and when she did, her shoulder slipped out of the wide neck of her T-shirt. After Mike had left, she’d changed into chase-the-kids clothes. Short, jersey-knit shorts that showed her slender legs, and a retro band shirt that was frayed at the bottom.

  His gaze seemed stuck on her bare shoulder, and, feeling brave, she decided not to cover it up. Instead she pulled her hair back, giving him a full view of her neck.

  “That shirt’s terrible,” he said, eyes narrowed. His arms crossed over his chest.

  Her brows lifted. For a second she felt self-conscious, and irritated that he’d said such a thing, but then he added, “You should take it off.”

  She smirked, and ran her fingers across the open collar. What had gotten into her? It seemed New Amy was a naughty little tease.

  “Does that line usually work for you?” she asked.

  He tried to keep a straight face. “About half the time.”

  “And the other half?”

  “I’m still waiting to see.”

  With a snort, she pushed off the counter. “If it bothers you so much, maybe you should take it off yourself.”

  His arms dropped to his sides. He took a quick step to the right, around the island, and she jolted the other way. His brow quirked, and she flashed him a sultry smile. This time when he lunged for her she was ready, and dashed toward the living room.

  Hushed giggles filled the air as he caught her around the waist and hoisted her up. His front was hard against her back, and she loved the strong feel of his arms around her.

  “Shh!” He put a hand over her mouth, chest quaking with laughter. “You’ll wake the monsters.”

  She kicked him in the shin, not hard, but like he’d taught her in self defense. He lost his grip but didn’t let go of her completely. His fingers dug into her ribs, tickling her, and she squirmed her way to the ground, dragging him down with her.

  “You must think...” he started, but she grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him. For one moment, they stayed that way, halfway between the kitchen and living room—halfway between something playful and something more. Their lips pressed hard together while their hearts thudded in their chests. And then she smiled against his mouth, and pulled back to look into his eyes.

  “God, you’re pretty,” he said.

  Sometimes when people said that word, it sounded so lacking. So short of anything meaningful. But not when Mike said it. When Mike told Amy she was pretty, there was not one thing in this world more beautiful. The compliment was irrefutable, and had her glowing.

  She pushed him back, so that he was leaning against the doorframe, and kneeled between his legs. Spreading her hands over his shoulders, she kissed her way down his neck, keeping above his shirt, just like last night. She unbuttoned his top button, spread open his collar, and planted a slow, wet kiss on his shoulder.

  His hands had circled her ribs, reminding her how small she was just by their size. But she didn’t feel insignificant. His thumbs, stroking her, and his staggered breaths told her how much she was affecting him.

  She made her way back to his neck, and then his jaw, and when she reached his mouth, he pulled her closer, hands in her hair. He explored her mouth as if he had all the time in the world, and she lost track of where she was. There was an intensity in him that had nothing to do with speed, that made her heart beat harder, not faster. That made her chest ache, just as her breasts ached, and that place between her thighs ached.

  The feeling was quickly becoming addicting.

  He laid back on the living room floor, kicking off his shoes and pulling her over him. Turning her head, she kissed the side of his hand, and then took his thumb into her mouth and sucked, sliding her tongue along the length of his finger. He jerked, and gave a tight sigh, and her hips began moving against h
im, longing for that same friction from before, at the other house.

  Rolling onto his side, he positioned her so that she was facing him, and lowered his hand so he could hike her leg up his hip.

  As they kissed, his touch grew heavier, and hers faster, more greedy. He felt his way around her lower back, and over the back of her thigh, and then, very tentatively, between her legs.

  She broke off the kiss, gasping into his neck.

  She wanted it. She wanted his touch, right there, without clothes to separate them.

  Knowing he needed her permission, she took his hand, and guided it between them, under her shirt, and beneath the waistband of her shorts. The fabric stretched around his knuckles, but he didn’t try to take off her clothes. He kept her covered, waiting for her to take the next step.

  He kissed her cheek, and her forehead, and gently felt his way over her panties. He rubbed a slow, light circle over her most private place and she moaned against his shoulder.

  He touched her like that for some time, until she was panting, and gripping his biceps, and her skin was sheening with perspiration. And then he moved aside the damp fabric, and drew one finger up and down the length of her tender lips.

  “Amy,” he whispered. “You’re so soft.”

  She felt soft. She wasn’t a failed tool that couldn’t even please her partner. She was more. More everything. And he was making her feel so many things, all at once. The intensity of her emotions was just as strong as the needs of her body.

  He pressed one finger inside, and they both shuddered.

  She could feel the stretch immediately, and wondered if he was actually using two fingers, or even three. It had been so long since she’d been touched like this, she didn’t remember what it felt like.

  “You’re so tight.” His forehead pressed to hers. “We have to take this slow.”

  Slow? She couldn’t slow down. Not now. The heat was flashing inside of her, becoming more demanding with each beat of her heart. As he pushed in further, she tried to hold still, but her chest was heaving. She curled her toes and fought for control, afraid she might explode into a thousand pieces.