Saving Emma

by Banks, R. R.

  She laughs. “Maybe you are,” she says. “But, I'm pretty sure that he’s off the market already.”

  My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and all I can do is laugh. There's really nothing I can say. I want to believe in what Monica’s saying, but I'm afraid to. Brice holds my heart in his hands, and one wrong move could utterly destroy it.

  I divert the conversation to something else, and as we sit there chit-chatting, I feel a prickling sensation on the back of my neck. As crazy and paranoid as it is to say, I feel like I'm being watched. I look around the food court and the surrounding area. Mostly, I see kids in Halloween costumes, creepy looking decorations, and big signs for sales. There doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary...

  Until I see him.

  Carlyle Hawkins leans against a pole, drinking a soda. He's just standing there, sipping through his straw, staring straight at me. Though he's wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, there's no doubt in my mind that it's him. The white mustache and beard are a dead giveaway. Plus, I've spent so much time studying his picture, I'd know him anywhere by now.

  An icy hand of fear slips up my spine, reaches into my chest, and squeezes my heart. I feel like it might even stop altogether. Adrenaline flows through my body and I start to tremble as I look at the man I know is a murderer, staring back at me.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  I turn, and Monica is looking at me, a concerned expression on her face. I don't trust myself to speak, so I just nod.

  “Yeah. I’m fine,” I say. “We should probably go though.”

  Monica nods in agreement, and we start gathering all the bags. As we walk out of the food court, my stomach is still churning, the knots in my belly constricting painfully, and I feel like I might be sick. I glance back over my shoulder to see that Carlyle hasn't moved an inch. He's still standing there, watching us leave. As we walk to the car, the only thought that passes through my mind is that he knows. Carlyle knows I know about him.

  How in the hell did he find out?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Brice

  “There you are,” I say.

  Emma turns to me and smiles – though, I can see a shadow of something hidden behind that smile. Some sort of uncertainty or fear. I chalk it up to her being nervous about being back. It's been a few days, and she's finally settling into her new role at the paper.

  She has a big story idea she's going to pitch to Ava and me soon – her first big, featured piece – so I figure she's just a little nervous, and I wanted to pop in and give her some encouragement.

  Emma wasn't in her office – I made sure she got an office rather than a cubicle since she's the head of our new investigative journalism department. It's a department that only has one employee – Emma – but, we're just getting started. I promised to hire a researcher to help her with her pieces and am relying on Ava to find a good one.

  Until then, Emma is left to research on her own. Which is why I assume, I found her in the vault. The vault is where the paper keeps old clippings and materials that have not yet been converted to digital files. That's a priority for me, since having computer access to these things is critical. Nobody should have to spend hours and hours going through boxes and boxes of things to find a piece of information.

  If it's actually even still in the box it should be in.

  Digitizing everything will streamline the whole process and make everything run a lot smoother. It's something that should have been done by the last owner and editor-in-chief, but something they both neglected to do.

  “Here I am,” she says.

  “You okay?”

  She nods. “Yeah, I'm fine,” she says. “Listen, I wanted to thank you for the shopping trip the other day. I mean, I don't know how I'll pay you back, but I –”

  “You'll do nothing of the sort,” I say. “It was my pleasure.”

  She snorts. “Brice, that was a lot of money.”

  “My money,” I say and shrug. “Last I checked, I'm free to do whatever I want with it.”

  “Like buy a newspaper just so you can give me a job?”

  “We've been over this.”

  A rueful grin touches her lips. “I know.”

  I give her a long look. Something is not right with her lately. Something's very wrong. The closer I look at her, the more I can see that she looks scared. I've been so busy the last few days between the paper and CEM that I've been stretched pretty thin and haven't had a chance to see her much.

  Now, I wish I'd made the time.

  “What's wrong, Em?”

  She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

  “You know the old saying,” I say. “You can't bullshit a bullshitter. So, what's up?”

  She lets out a long breath and looks away from me. “I – I'm scared, Brice,” she says. “I think I'm being followed. Watched.”

  “Watched? By who?”

  “I don't know for sure,” she says. “I mean, maybe I'm just being paranoid, but I'm really scared.”

  I pull her to me and wrap her in a tight embrace. I feel her trembling and can feel the fear radiating off her body. She's definitely scared. Of what though? Of who? I put my fingers beneath her chin and raise her head, so she's looking into my eyes.

  “I will never let anything happen to you. I will always protect you.”

  “I don't know if you can.”

  “Like hell I can't,” I say. “Emma, you are mine now. You belong to me. I belong to you. As long as that’s true, I will protect you.”

  A faint smile touches her lips. “Like with Mark?”

  “Exactly like that.”

  She leans into me and I hold her for a while. I feel her relax a bit, though her body is still tense. At least she's not still trembling anymore. That's progress.

  I lift her head again and press my lips to hers. Our kiss is soft and sweet, but she grabs hold of the lapels on my coat and pulls me closer to her. Our tongues swirl around one another, and I feel my cock stirring in my pants. Part of me knows we should stop – anyone could walk in here at any time. The other part of me wants her and doesn't care.

  Emma kisses me with a passion that borders on desperation. Like she's finding safety, comfort, and reassurance in our kiss. Her hands are roaming all over my body, and before I know it, she's grabbing my cock, massaging it through my pants.

  “We have to be quick,” she whispers. “And quiet.”

  I glance back at the vault door. “Are you sure? Here?”

  She nods while she quickly unbuttons my pants. I'm not going to lie. The idea of fucking her in the office is kind of hot, but the last thing I want is for her to end up with a bad reputation because she got caught banging the boss.

  I can tell though, by the look in her eyes and the movements of her body – and just the energy coming from her – that for whatever reason, this is something she needs. Like really needs.

  I fish a condom out of my wallet, but before I can open it, she snatches it away from me. Emma tears the package open and quickly unrolls it down the length of my cock. She sits up on one of the low desks and pulls me to her. Stepping forward, I slide her skirt up around her waist, and pull her panties down, then off, slipping them into my coat pocket.

  “I need you,” she says. “I need to feel you inside of me.”

  I kiss her again, and thrust my hips, driving my cock into her. She bites back a gasp as I enter her. Wrapping her legs around my waist, she grabs hold of my forearms, bracing herself as I pump my cock into her.

  I drive myself forward with urgency. I know we have to be quick, but I really wish we had time to slow down and do things the right way. Nothing wrong with a quick bang, of course, but I would love to taste her again. I'd love to do all the things we both enjoy.

  But, this is something Emma needs. I don't know why, but she needs to feel this connection right now. There's a part of me that laughs. Back in the day – those cocky days of my youth – I would have assumed that it's because I'm just that good in the sack, and t
hat all women just sat around, longing for me to fuck them.

  Today though, I know that's not true. For whatever reason, Emma needs to be close to me right now. To feel the reassurance and closeness we share. To feel connected. And I'm more than happy to give her what she wants. What she needs. It's something I'm finding I want to do more and more – and not just in the bedroom.

  Emma’s moaning softly, as I pound myself into her again and again. She leans forward and kisses me with an unexpected ferocity as I plunge my cock as deep as I can possibly go. Her cries are thankfully muffled by my mouth. I have to admit, sneaking around in here and having to be quiet is really turning me on. This forbidden tryst is hot. Really, really hot.

  Beads of sweat dot my brow as I relentlessly thrust my cock into her. She's so wet that I slide in and out of her tight little pussy with ease. She kisses me again, and I feel her body tensing even harder. That familiar pressure inside of me starts to build, and when I feel the muscles inside of her clench, I lose it.

  “Fuck,” I mutter.

  My cock throbs and I explode inside of her. It's all I can do to keep from crying out loud. Like a chain reaction, my explosion sets off Emma, and she bites down on my shoulder to keep from screaming.

  Both of our bodies shake as we cling to one another, ecstasy rippling through us. I press my forehead to hers, giving her a small smile and a kiss on the forehead. The fear I saw in her eyes earlier has diminished, and a little color has returned to her face. She doesn't seem as tense as she did when I first walked into the vault.

  “Thank you,” she says. “I needed that.”

  “Always happy to help you relieve that tension,” I say and grin. “We should do this more often.”

  “And risk somebody walking in on us?” she asks, arching an eyebrow at me.

  “Isn't that what made this kinda hot?” I ask, my smile growing wider. “

  She smiles – an actual smile that reaches her eyes this time. “Yeah, maybe so.”

  We quickly dress and make sure we're presentable, smoothing out our clothing, and doing our best not to laugh. The tension that had saturated the air earlier seems to have lifted, and Emma seems to be in better spirits. Which is good. Maybe, once she's done with her pitch, I'll take her out to lunch, and we can talk about whoever she thinks is watching her.

  “I'll go out first,” I say. “Wait a couple of minutes, and then you follow.”

  She grins. “We're like a couple of horny teenagers sneaking around after a quickie, aren't we?”

  I nod and laugh. “Exactly,” I say. “Kinda fun, isn't it?”

  * * *

  I'm sitting in Ava's office with the editor-in-chief and Emma. Thankfully, we've both composed ourselves and don't have the, “we just screwed in the other room,” look to us. And I know Ava is looking for any telltale sign.

  Emma has just laid out her pitch, as well as some of the information she's uncovered, and how she wants to go about it. She'll do a series of pieces on the murders and lay out the connections she's found between all of the victims. Although only three of them are known, Emma is certain there are more than that.

  “Sounds like a compelling piece,” I say.

  Ava eyes Emma but remains silent for a long time. She takes a long, deliberate swallow of her coffee, and I can see her mind working. Finally, after a few tense moments, she puts her mug down and speaks.

  “I think it's an interesting premise,” she says. “But, I think it's missing something.”

  “What is it missing?” Emma asks.

  “I'm not sure,” Ava says. “I was hoping you could tell us.”

  Emma cocks her head. “What do you mean?”

  “I get the feeling you're holding something back.”

  I look at Ava and then at Emma, who just shakes her head.

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” she says. “I've laid out all of the factual information, as well as my theories on the case.”

  “Yes, but I get the sense there's something more you’re not telling us,” Ava presses.

  “There's really not.”

  Ava sits back in her seat and picks up her mug of coffee again, taking another long swallow – giving Emma the chance to spill. I hadn't noticed it before – or maybe, my feelings for Emma are just clouding my judgment – but as I look at her, I get the sense that Ava's right. There's a nervousness about Emma – which, combined with what happened in the vault – makes me wonder what she's hiding. And why.

  There's a knock on Ava's door, and the receptionist pops her head in. “Ms. Drake, Mr. Kelly,” she says. “Carlyle Hawkins is here to see you?”

  “Who?” Ava asks.

  “He's kind of a big deal around here. We should probably talk to him,” I say and then turn to Karen. “You can show him in please.”

  “Who is this guy?” Ava asks.

  “This is a man whose ass we have to kiss,” I say.

  “Wonderful.”

  “Hey, you know as well as I do, this job comes with some politicking,” I say. “As distasteful as it is.”

  I don't see so much as feel the tension radiating from Emma. When I look over at her, she's blanched, her cool skin even paler than normal. Her eyes are wide, and she's sitting up, her entire demeanor changed. She's worse off now than in the vault. And again, a stream of questions buzz through my mind.

  “You okay?” I ask quietly.

  She nods. “Yeah. Fine,” she says, her voice stiff and wooden. “We can pick this up after your meeting. I'll just be in my –”

  “Why don't you stay, Emma,” Ava says. “Since you're a local, and Mr. Hawkins is such a big deal, maybe you can help out with the public relations.”

  Emma just nods again, as if she's lost the ability to speak. I look at her for a long moment, wondering what in the hell is going on with her. Before I can ask though, the office door opens again, and a tall, broad-shouldered man with a bushy white mustache and beard comes in. He reminds me a lot of the actor, Frank Langella.

  Hawkins is wearing blue jeans, a black polo shirt, and a blue Dodgers ballcap. I've never met him before, but if you're in the Long Beach area enough, you know who Carlyle Hawkins is. He's practically considered a saint in this city.

  “Mr. Hawkins,” I say, rising to meet him and extending my hand. “Brice Kelly.”

  “Oh, I know who you are, son,” he says, his voice deep and booming. “Watched you play at 'SC. I'm an alum. You really did us proud.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I say.

  “I was sorry to see your pro career ended so soon,” he says. “Damn shame. Just one of those fluke things.”

  I bite back the flash of irritation that wells up within me. I know it's always going to come up because of who I am. That damn play gets shown all the time – even still. Doesn't mean I like reliving it though.

  “It happens,” I say. “Football can be a rough sport. I rebounded well enough though.”

  “That you did,” he says.

  Ava has come around her desk and extends her hand. Hawkins takes it and gives it a firm shake.

  “Ava Drake,” she says. “Editor-in-chief of the Times Daily. Please, won't you have a seat? Can I get you a cup of coffee or a water?”

  “Thank you, Ms. Drake,” Hawkins replies. “And no, thank you.”

  He takes the seat next to Emma, and I swear, she looks like, if she could have crawled out of her skin right at that moment, she would have. Hawkins turns to her and gives her a saccharine smile.

  “Carlyle Hawkins,” he says and takes her hand, planting a kiss on the back of it, which has her looking like she might be sick. “And who might you be, my dear?”

  Emma looks like she's ready to bolt out the door and run screaming into the night. She's exactly the kind of person I'd want to play poker with, just because I know I couldn't lose against her. Something is really wrong, but I don't know what it is. I'm going to find out once this little pow-wow is over though, you can bet your ass on that.

  “E – Emma. Emma Sim
monds,” she says, but can't hide the tremor in her voice. “N – nice to meet you.”

  “Lovely to meet you, my dear.”

  Ava reclaims her seat, and I stand beside her, my hand resting on the back of her chair. Hawkins is fifty-four, and maybe a little soft around the middle, but he still looks strong. Powerful. Physically imposing. He's handsome, for an older man, and has a distinguished look to him.

  And then there's a presence about him. He exudes charisma, and has an air of authority about him that can't be denied. I'm not the type to get starstruck, but I can definitely see why some people stand in awe of the guy.

  “Emma is our lead investigative reporter,” I say.

  “Is that so?”

  Emma looks like she wants to flee the room, but turns back to Hawkins and nods. “Yes.”

  “Interesting,” he replies. “And what is it you're investigating?”

  “C – crime,” she says. “I'm on the crime beat.”

  He nods as if he understands. “Unfortunately, I'm sure that keeps you more than busy in our fair city.”

  Emma nods, and it feels like the air in the room is getting more tense and awkward by the minute. Ava and I exchange a look and a small, subtle shrug. We'll figure it out later.

  “Anyway, what can we do for you, Mr. Hawkins,” Ava asks cheerily. “What brings a man such as yourself into our humble airspace?”

  “Well, I'd heard that the Times Daily was under new ownership,” he says. “I thought I'd stop by to say hello and welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  “Well, that's lovely,” Ava says. “Thank you so much.”

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. Hawkins,” I say.

  “Truthfully, I was glad to see new ownership take over. I personally believe a solid community newspaper is vital to a city's health,” he says. “And I don't feel like the old regime shared that belief. They let the paper fall into – disrepair.”

  “I agree,” I say. “That's why my goal is to create a vibrant and diverse paper for an equally vibrant and diverse community. We plan to focus on the topics most relevant to people living here.”