by Kathy Altman
For long seconds, they shuddered against each other.
Grady let his chin fall to his chest as he gasped for air, overwhelmed by the ecstatic violence of his climax and an overpowering sense of belonging. The tremors lessened, and he sank down onto his elbows, keeping his hips pressed tight against hers. He nuzzled her ear, and she started to laugh.
“I feel like I’ve been Tasered,” she gasped. “Only in a good way.”
Grady grinned. “Thank God everyone else is at the opposite side of the house, or they’d be banging on my door.” Her expression gave him pause. “What?”
“That was…” Charity’s hips surged up against his as she shook her head in wonder. “I like it when you take charge, Grady West.” Her smile turned wicked. “I also like it when you lose control.”
“Yeah? I like that thing you do with your finger.”
She crooked a finger to draw him closer again, and licked his chin.
“Not that thing,” Grady said against her mouth. “The other thing. You know, when you slide—”
Charity stretched out an arm, grabbed a pillow, and aimed for the side of his head. He dodged the pillow and lifted away from her. She scowled and reached both arms toward him. He dodged those, too, and got out of bed.
“Be right back.”
He got rid of the condom and returned from the bathroom to find her snuggled under the comforter, one pillow under her head and the other hugged to her chest. He stole them both. Outraged, she jackknifed into a sitting position and grabbed, but he held the pillows out of reach.
“Trade you a pillow for a joke.”
All the while she pretended to pout, a smile tugged at her lips. “Fine.” She settled against the headboard and patted the mattress beside her.
He snuggled close, handed her a pillow, and dipped his head so she could hit him with it. She did, then stuffed it behind her back, comfortable in her nudity. Comfortable, and sexy as hell.
God, he’d missed this woman.
“An old farmer bought a new pair of boots,” she began. “When he got home he tried to get his wife to notice them, but she didn’t pay any attention. So he went in the bedroom, took off all his clothes, and came out wearing only the boots. ‘Notice anything?’ he asked his wife. ‘All I see is a limp dick,’ she replied. ‘Yeah, but look what it’s pointing at. My new boots.’ ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Next time, buy a new hat.’”
Grady chuckled. He scooted down, and pulled her over on top of him. They kissed for long moments until the alarm clock on the nightstand snagged her attention.
“I should go,” she said.
He rubbed his hands over her back, then followed her spine down to her ass and caressed her just this side of rough. She began to move with his hands, eyes gleaming with sudden need. Her damp heat penetrated the sheet, and his groin caught fire.
“Maybe,” he managed, “you should come before you go.”
Her hips rocked more insistently. “You mean maybe you should come before I go.”
“I like the way you think,” he said. “But you first.” He flipped her underneath him, and kissed his way down her body, his cock so hard it hurt as she rasped his name over and over into the shadows.
* * *
Crap.
Charity sighed up into the moon-spattered darkness. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t regret it. As she’d gone against every last one of her cop instincts by trespassing on West property, she’d pledged to appreciate this chance to reconnect with Grady. She knew their time would be limited, and she’d vowed to cherish it.
Fuck that. She wanted more. She wanted all the time. She wanted beyond the murder case. And she couldn’t have it.
She inhaled and pressed her palms to her eyes, already feeling the heaviness of tears gathering in her throat. They’d fallen into their old pattern so effortlessly, so comfortably, that the enormity of what she’d sacrificed all those years ago was like the weight of a thousand black sins on her soul. She stared up through the shadows at the lazy spin of the ceiling fan, Grady sprawled on his stomach close beside her, his muscled arm flung over her waist, his breath puffing warmth against her shoulder.
She stifled a sob. He groaned, arm flexing as he started to tuck her beneath him. Dear Lord, she had to get out of there before she started begging him again. Only this time, to stay in Becker County.
She’d already decided she wouldn’t be spending the weeks before summer with him. She’d never be able to survive his leaving at the end of it.
She shifted to the edge of the bed. “I have to go.”
Grady groped under the sheets and tangled his fingers in hers. “Stay.”
“I can’t.”
“Stay.”
“Grady…”
He pushed up and rolled onto his side, pulled her close, and kissed her temple. “Having second thoughts?”
She smiled despite herself. “Seconds and thirds.”
“You counting the time we fell off the bed?”
“Fine. Fourths.”
Grady breathed in through his nose and brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “I missed you.”
“Missed me? Or missed this?”
“You’re already doing it.” Gently he traced the outline of her lips. “Pulling away.”
Enough already. “Because I have to go.” Charity kissed his finger, slid out of bed, and collected her clothes. She counted herself lucky when she discovered her phone was still in her sweater pocket. Grady hesitated, then got to his feet, grabbed his sweatpants, and pulled them on. He paused, T-shirt in hand.
“Will we be doing this again?”
“I certainly hope so,” she said lightly, and swung to face him. “Wait, you mean with each other?”
“That’s not funny.” He lunged, and she tried to run, but she didn’t get far. A mock spanking turned into a quickie against the wall. When she could breathe again, Charity finished dressing.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Grady said.
“Please don’t. I can manage.”
He hesitated. “You pulling a shift today?”
“Eight to four. Why? You up for a ride-along?”
He gave a mock groan. “You at least going to feed me first?”
“Seriously?” Charity was too surprised to hold up her end of the sexual banter. “You want to come with?”
“I do want. But I can’t.” He reached for her hand. “I have an appointment I can’t reschedule.”
She frowned. “Something to do with the case?”
“Would I do that without telling you?”
She snorted.
He grinned. “Now that we’re partners, I mean?”
She pressed a quick kiss to his jaw. “Call me when you get a chance.”
“Listen, when I get back, how about you and me and Matt doing something together?”
Like a family? Something greasy uncoiled in her stomach. “That’s an idea,” she managed.
He slid his fingers through her hair and gave it a gentle tug. “I know you have to go. But give me a minute. I want to tell you about my ex-wife.”
“Grady—”
“Please.” He leaned back and snagged her gaze. “There isn’t much to it. I got drunk at a party, went home with a girl, and got her pregnant.” He grimaced. “When you’re drunk, you can’t feel anything. And when you’re fucking drunk…you know, fucking while you’re drunk…you can pretend the chick you’re with is the only chick you’ve ever loved. But you have to know—”
She jerked away from him. “You’re blaming me.”
“What?”
“You’re saying it’s my fault. That you were drunk when you fucked Valerie. Too drunk to practice safe sex. You’re saying your marriage, Matt, everything that went wrong with your life is my fault.”
Grady froze, and even through the gloom she could see the ice in his eyes. “Nothing about Matt is wrong. He was unplanned, yes, but the best damned mistake I ever made.”
Charity’s shoulders slumpe
d. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I know he means everything to you.” She put out a hand but dropped it before she touched him. “He’s fighting for your attention. At the same time, he resents the hell out of you for giving it.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.”
She turned away.
Grady followed. “Please tell me you know I’m not blaming you. For anything. I’m my own man, Char. I make my own decisions.”
“I really do have to go,” she whispered.
“Wait.” He turned her to face him, and stroked his thumb across her chin. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”
“Did I mention I have to go?” Charity suppressed her cop curiosity and patted his cheek before crossing quickly to the door. “Call me when you can. We can talk about the case.”
“The case. Right.”
All the way home, she pictured the grim disappointment on his face as she’d shut the door behind her.
* * *
Charity would almost rather French kiss a rabid elk than tell the sheriff her decision about the election. Scratch that. There was no “almost” about it. So she decided to put it off. And for good reason. Mo had sent her a text while she was in the shower, and now she had an arrest to make. Nothing like a clean, solid arrest for boosting one’s self confidence.
Providing one remembered to fill out the paperwork afterward.
She tipped her cereal bowl and swallowed her regret along with the last of her Trix-flavored milk, reminding herself she had to reimburse Mo for the DNA test he’d arranged. She headed for the bathroom and a quick brush of her teeth, all the while trying not to wonder how many more times she’d get to see Grady West naked before he headed back to Seattle.
And trying hard to forget she’d promised herself she’d stay away.
Outside Oliver Bloom’s house, she checked in with Dispatch, grabbed her hat, and hopped out of the SUV.
He was on the front porch before she’d set foot on the flagstone path. He had a mini cooler in one hand and his keys in the other; she’d caught him on his way to the range, which opened early on Saturdays.
“Well, if it isn’t my opposing candidate. Come to concede?”
“No,” Charity said flatly. “Is your wife home?”
“What do you want with Janet?”
“I have a warrant for her arrest.”
Blue eyes bulged. Even the bristles of his buzz cut seemed to quiver. “What the hell for?”
“Will you bring her out, or would you rather I go in and get her?”
They stared at each other, Bloom’s face getting redder every second. Finally he turned his head and spat into the azaleas. “This is bullshit, Bishop.”
The door behind him swung open. “No,” his wife said. “It’s not.” She stepped out onto the porch and studied Charity, her thin face serene but pale. “I’m guessing that warrant says something about destruction of private property?”
“Yes, ma’am, and damage inflicted on a public school.”
“Then it’s not bullshit.”
“Janet.” Bloom fell back against the black iron balustrade, and it protested with a long, low-pitched squeak. “That was you? But why? What were you thinking?”
“That you deserved to be sheriff. And that she deserved a reality check.” She gave Charity the once-over. “How’d you figure it out?”
“Don’t say anything.” Bloom put a meaty hand on his wife’s shoulder, only to have her shrug it off. “Janet. Not without a lawyer.”
“A DNA test proved the feces on Scott Langford’s porch came from your dog.” Charity nodded at the Irish setter that had his face pressed up against the glass on the storm door. “As far as the graffiti on the exterior wall of the school, you added your initials.” Charity moved away from the path and motioned Bloom’s wife to the SUV. “J-O-B. Janet and Oliver Bloom. At the last minute, you changed your mind about signing your work and added chapter and verse for misdirection.”
Janet Bloom took her time joining Charity in the driveway. “You going to cuff me?”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” Charity really wasn’t up for a tussle on the lawn, and Janet Bloom looked like she was spoiling for a tussle.
Her short black hair stood up in indignant spikes. “I intend to tell the sheriff all about your dirty affair with my husband.”
Charity sighed and opened the back door. “You do realize our ‘affair’ lasted all of three nights before you two even met?”
“Oh, fuck. Oh, shit.” Head in his hands, Bloom sat slumped on the cement steps. “My campaign. What’ll I do about my campaign?”
“Here’s an idea,” his wife yelled from the back seat before Charity had a chance to shut the door. “Shove it up your adulterous ass.”
As Charity backed down the driveway, her passenger congratulated her. “Looks like you’re about to be sheriff.”
Charity shook her head. “I’m pulling out of the race.”
“Why?”
“I made a mistake.”
“I’ll say you did. Oliver has more hang-ups than a telemarketer. You’re welcome to him.”
“Not that kind of mistake. And by the way, you were wasting your time following me around. I am not hooking up with your husband.”
“I haven’t been following you around.”
Charity frowned into the rearview mirror. “You’re not the one who’s been writing anonymous notes?”
“Not unless you count the one on the side of the elementary school.”
Janet Bloom could be lying, but Charity wasn’t getting that vibe.
Crap. How many enemies did she have?
She braked at a stop sign, turned in her seat, and glared through the steel partition. “How about my Camry? Was that you?”
“Oliver always said it was worse than ridiculous, how attached you are to that car.”
Charity forced a casual smile. “I hope you enjoyed it, Janet.” She turned back around and pressed on the accelerator. “Because it’s going to cost you.”
“What? Community service? Big deal.”
“I bought that car used, did you know? The man I bought it from sold it only because his wife insisted. He’s almost as fond of Clarabelle as I am. Want to guess what his name is?” She glanced into the rearview mirror.
Janet was finally starting to look uneasy. And for good reason.
“Clarkson Pratt,” said Charity, and grinned all the way to the station.
* * *
Charity was finishing up Janet Bloom’s paperwork when a dour-faced Pratt stepped into her office doorway. “Can we talk?”
How ironic. He was going to fire her before she had a chance to tell him she was no longer running for sheriff.
Her stomach shuddered, but she lifted her chin. Might as well get it over with.
“Come in,” she said, then raised her eyebrows when one of the regulators stepped into the office behind the sheriff. It was Tim, who’d booked her brother Hank and his buddy the night Drew had found Sarah’s body. The lanky regulator kept his gaze averted, his clenched fists and sweat-slick forehead revealing he’d rather be anywhere else. What the hell? Slowly Charity got to her feet.
“Tim has something to say,” prompted the sheriff.
The regulator cleared his throat. “I’m the one who followed you and took those photos. I left the notes.”
“You?” Charity’s gaze traveled from Tim to the sheriff and back again. “Why would you do that?”
He shrugged. “I got paid.”
She clamped her arms across her chest. “You stalked a fellow officer for money?” She thought about what he’d put her through, the night she’d spotted him in her back yard, and it was all she could do not to let loose the outraged shriek building in her chest.
His cheeks had gone ruddy. “It wasn’t just the money. I got hired as head of security at the hospital.”
Oh, they did not. “Who hired you?” Charity demanded. “Hampton or Roberta?”
“Roberta
,” he said sullenly.
Oh, Grady.
Pratt slapped his hands against his rig. “I assume you want to press charges.”
Charity hesitated. “The publicity won’t do the department any good. But neither will cops who can’t trust each other.” She gave a curt nod. “Press away.”
Pratt jabbed a thumb at the door. “You heard her. Clean out your desk and turn in your badge to Dispatch. Deputy Morrissey will get you processed.”
Charity waited until the door closed behind the regulator before walking around to the front of her desk and slumping onto the edge. “How’d you find out?”
“Finally got my hands on that security footage for the West house.” Pratt tugged at his goatee. “We’re going to be a little short-handed. I’ll have to see if any of the other volunteers can put in more hours. Maybe we should have a drive. See if we can bring in some more warm bodies before the shortage becomes your problem.”
A hot, prickling itch attacked the back of Charity’s throat. Here we go. She swallowed. “About that…”
Three minutes later Pratt stared at her, stunned. He’d flopped down into the chair in the corner the moment she’d used the word “withdraw” and he hadn’t twitched a muscle since. His throat worked, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, dislodging his black-framed glasses. He pinched so hard the tips of his fingers turned white.
“I hate to see this happen,” he finally said, in a wispy shadow of his usually booming voice.
Regret sliced through Charity’s chest. She slid off her desk and stood as tall as she could. “I fucked up. I appreciate that you’re trying to protect me, but it needs to come out. Everyone on that panel and everyone in the department needs to know what I did.” She was itching to take him to task over letting Bloom on the panel, but it wouldn’t change a thing. In the end, the decision had belonged to the County Commissioner.
“Before I can even think about running for sheriff,” she continued, “I need to prove I won’t make that kind of mistake again. ‘Respect the badge and it’ll respect you.’ That’s what you’re always saying. That’s what I need to do. That’s what I didn’t do.”
With a stiff nod, Pratt pushed up from the chair. “I’ll let the election board know. So much for retirement.”