A Mended Man (The Men of Halfway House Book 4)

by Jaime Reese

  A Mended Man

  The Men of Halfway House 4

  Detective Aidan Calloway is rock-solid strong. He's a man of justice—loyal to his friends, family, and job—even if it requires bending a law…or two. He shields himself behind an abrasive, fearless facade, until a phone call one night chips his armor and throws his perfectly planned, hollow life into a tailspin.

  Jessie Vega is the epitome of optimism. His carefully crafted attitude of hope and positivity protects him from a past filled with too much pain. When a ghost from a dark time resurfaces and nearly breaks him, he must tap into his inner strength or risk losing everything he's worked so hard to build.

  But Jessie can't do it alone. He must fight to break through Aidan's ironclad defenses to reveal the heart of the man hiding beneath the tough surface and mend his damaged spirit. Only then can they truly heal and become strong enough to battle the demons that haunt them and threaten their chance to finally be together.

  ———

  ***This book contains scenes and subject matter some readers may find distressing.***

  A Mended Man

  Copyright © 2016 by Jaime Reese

  jaimereese.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or in any means—by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—without prior written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Romandeavor, Inc.

  ISBN: 978-0-9907786-0-8 (Kindle)

  ISBN: 978-0-9907786-1-5 (ePUB)

  ISBN: 978-0-9907786-2-2 (Paperback)

  First Edition, April 2016

  Printed in the United States of America

  Edited by Jae Ashley

  Cover art and formatting by Reese Dante

  Cover Photographer: wagnerLA Photography

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  This book is intended for adult audiences due to language, sexual content, and other subject matters some readers may find distressing.

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and owners of the following trademarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Dr. Phil: Peteski Productions, Inc.

  Google: Google, Inc.

  iPod: Apple, Inc.

  Marines: US Marine Corps, a component of the US Department of the Navy

  Miss Universe: IMG Universe, LLC

  Olympics: United States Olympic Committee

  Skype: Skype Corporation

  Superman: DC Comics General Partnership

  Velcro: Velcro Industries B.V.

  Message to Readers

  Although Aidan and Jessie are not residents of Halfway House, the house is the reason their paths crossed. Hopefully, in the end, you'll understand why these guys took so long to finally reach their happily ever after and why they'll fight like hell to keep it.

  * * * *

  Creative license was taken with this story and may slightly stray from factual medical or police procedure. It is a work of fiction.

  For Aidan.

  You win.

  "Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad."

  ― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

  He woke with a start and stilled, trying to focus on the faint sound on the other side of the door. He could have sworn he heard something. He tried to hold his breath to quiet the sound of each intake of air.

  Someone was there.

  He slowly climbed out of bed, his movements light and cautious. The cold tile floor against his bare feet sent a chill through his body. His small bedroom offered no escape except for the doorway between him and whoever was out there. There was also the single window behind the bed, two stories up. He cursed under his breath, realizing he had left his phone charging in the living room. He scanned the room for a weapon, something, anything that would provide protection. Times like these he wished he knew how to use a gun, a knife, or had the strength to swing a stick at anything other than a dog to play fetch.

  He grabbed a cardboard shipping tube resting along the wall. It probably wouldn't offer much of a beating, but hopefully it would, at least, slow someone down and give way to an escape. He leaned against the wall, holding the tube like a baseball bat ready to swing. Who was he kidding? He didn't know how to handle a damn bat. He screwed his eyes shut and listened closely.

  His arms and neck tingled as if a swarm of insects crawled under his skin. His heart raced faster; his breath came at a clipped pace. His eyes snapped open when a thought struck him. A shiver traveled his body and his hands began to shake. Please no.

  Somehow…he just knew. Oh God.

  A split second later, the bedroom door flew open and slammed against the wall. A dark shadow appeared, backlit by the faint streetlight coming from the living room window. He couldn't see the face but recognized the man and the familiar fear his large body commanded. No cardboard tube could fight off the man twice his size, and bigger and broader…and infinitely stronger.

  The shadow's thick, meaty hand grabbed him and threw him on the bed, momentarily numbing him. The shadow pushed its large, muscular frame over his, suffocating him and pressing him into the mattress. He pushed back against the broad shoulders, trying to break free from the power holding him down.

  "I missed those baby blue eyes of yours," the shadow said as he licked up the side of his neck. "Keep fighting me. You know I like it rough."

  His stomach roiled and that night's dinner bitterly rose in his throat. He looked up at the small ceramic vase on the windowsill and his glass angel figurine. The T-shirt was yanked off and over his head harshly. The rush of cold air skated across his chest followed by a hot, wet mouth.

  He tried to move higher on the bed, hoping to gain those precious inches of distance he needed. He reached up, his fingers barely grazing the vase's rough ceramic exterior. He pushed off the broad shoulders and grunted with the force to stretch. He reached up with one hand and finally wrapped his fingers around the ceramic vase, slamming it against the shadow's head.

  The looming silhouette sat up and raised a hand to the side of his own face. "You son of a bitch!"

  He took advantage of the momentary distraction and pulled his knees up to his chest and kicked outward with as much force as he could.

  His father would be so proud.

  The shadow reared back on the bed and he managed to get out from under him. He tried to run for the door, but a thick, strong hand grabbed him by the back of the neck and threw him against the dresser in the corner. The hard wooden edge rammed into his side, shooting bolts of pain through his limbs, weakening his legs and robbing him of the breath in his lungs. He gasped for air and tried to stand straight, holding the dresser to keep his balance. A powerful force grabbed him by the waist and slammed his back against the wall, off the ground. One large fist landed squarely on the side of his head with minimal effort, like someone shooing away a gnat on a typical hot Miami summer day. Pain instantly
bloomed across his face, numbing everything above the neck, and his eyes watered.

  He pushed against the shadow's face, clawing at his features, knowing exactly where the eyes were and the slight bend of the already broken nose he was all too familiar with.

  Wetness covered his hand. He had drawn blood from the monster.

  "You're going to regret that, Runt!"

  Another punch followed and another. He fell to the floor, the squares and streaks of light in the darkness became blurry and his stomach churned from the pain. More kicks and punches landed in rapid succession. He lost count. He gasped, rolling his body into a fetal position, needing to protect himself as sharp ripples of pain shot throughout every inch of his body.

  I don't want to die.

  His eyes burned from the tears he tried to hold back.

  I won't cry. I won't cry. Men don't cry.

  He yelled, unable to control the pain any longer, when the monster pulled him by the leg. He heard a pop, a sound he prayed he'd never hear again, then another blinding pain in his hand, arm, he wasn't even sure anymore. Everything felt loose, broken…not connected at all. His vision blurred. He was roughly thrown on the bed again, no longer able to control the sob that escaped.

  He hated being helpless.

  He tried to pull away the fingers from around his neck. His head fell back as he gasped for air, feeling the life leaving his body. His blurred vision now inked with black spots, disguising the few specks of light that still lingered.

  Oh, God…please. I don't want to die.

  Through his fuzzy vision, a glint of light reflected on the glass angel on the windowsill, like a beacon answering his plea for help. His protector. As if the one who'd given him the figurine commanded him to fight.

  A surge of adrenaline jolted his body. He reached up with his good hand and firmly gripped the glass angel. With a warrior yell, he summoned every ounce of strength in his shattered body and jammed the glass figurine into the monster.

  PART 1:

  Surviving

  Detective Aidan Calloway signed off on the last document, closed the file, and sighed. He hadn't discharged his weapon and no one had gotten hurt. Less paperwork for him and a better day for everyone in his proximity. A win all around. He could finally call it a night and head home after another painfully long day.

  He threw the pen on the desk and caught his reflection in the screen of his propped up phone. He ran his fingers through his hair and scratched his chin, cringing at the growing stubble and his now disheveled dark hair. It was getting too long and he found himself brushing it out of his eyes more often than not. Maybe he should go back to the high and tight look he used to wear in the Marines. He wasn't a vain man, but he looked a bit worn, even to his own eyes. And he couldn't do this whole metrosexual-gel-hair shit to keep it all in place.

  "You look fine, pretty boy. Stop fussing."

  Aidan scowled. Sunny, his partner of six months, had more balls than most of the men he'd been paired with since he'd joined the force roughly six years ago. Growing up with a flower child name like Sunshine Mooney definitely forced a kid to develop one hell of a thick skin rather quickly. And good luck to the person who called her by her given name. He wouldn't openly admit it, but he had mad respect for the woman who never turned away from a challenge and never took shit from anyone. Including him. They were a perfect match and could dish out comebacks until the end of days.

  "You're a real fucking comedian," he said, glaring into her chocolate-brown eyes.

  She quirked a dark eyebrow. "You know, that evil, hazel-eyed glare of yours has zero effect on me."

  "Calloway," Captain Harry Jameson yelled from his office across the department floor.

  "Oooh, you're going to the principal's office," Sunny whispered from her desk.

  "Cut it out, Sunshine," he growled, emphasizing her given name. She straightened in her seat with a smirk, having figured out early on when not to push. He stood from his corner cubicle and grabbed the file and his sport coat, hoping to quickly wrap up whatever the captain wanted and head out of the station without much delay.

  Sunny opened the drawer and grabbed her keys. "I'm outta here before he decides to do a group think meeting or something."

  "Don't get into too much trouble on your own this weekend." Finally, they had the weekend off after working consecutively for the last three weeks.

  She cackled.

  "That's attractive."

  "Mock me all you want. You're the one headed into a meeting while my ass heads home into a nice, warm, comfy tub." She turned and dramatically flipped her bleached hair then waved over her shoulder as she walked away. "See you Monday!"

  He dropped the folder off at the processing table and shrugged into his jacket as he headed over to his captain's office. All he wanted right now was his couch and some white noise from the TV until he passed out. He made his way down the hallway and caught another glimpse of himself in the glass of the picture hanging on the wall. It seemed reflective surfaces were on a mission to showcase just how badly he wore his exhaustion. He straightened the collar of his shirt under the jacket and finger-brushed his hair. He added another item to his weekend checklist: get a haircut.

  Aidan entered the captain's office and cleared his throat.

  "Shut the door," Harry said, not bothering to turn around from his perch by the window.

  Aidan closed the door to his boss's office then walked over to stand behind the chair opposite his desk.

  The captain finally turned around. "I wish you'd actually wear a tie to work and follow our dress code."

  "I'm not wearing a fashion noose," he said, tugging the cuffs of his shirt while he maintained his spot behind the chair.

  Harry shook his head and groaned. "It makes it a bit tough to enforce the code with the other detectives when you refuse to follow it."

  "When they close as many cases as I do, then I think it's fair to extend them the same courtesy."

  Harry grunted and sat in his chair, gesturing toward the vacant seat. "Please sit."

  Aidan internally cringed with the dimming promise of a quick escape. He pulled out the chair and crossed his legs, hoping the captain would skip the chitchat about his kids, the wife, or dog. Whatever. He just wanted to wind down and disconnect.

  "I'm putting you in a group."

  "Like therapy?" he said with a lopsided grin.

  "Smartass. No. Although I'm sure you could benefit from that."

  "What kind of group?"

  "A team of detectives."

  Aidan threw his head back and spread his arms dramatically. "C'mon, Harry. You know that shit never works well with me. I'm surprised Sunny's lasted this long." He looked back at his captain and lowered his brow.

  Harry rubbed his temples. "That's why she's going in with you. For some reason, she doesn't want to strangle you at the end of the day so I'm not messing with that formula. I'll call her and tell her tomorrow. I figured it was easier to break it to you individually rather than have the both of you gang up on me."

  "Captain—"

  Harry raised a halting hand. "They're trying something new. You guys will help with potential serial cases that have a local connection. That includes current and cold cases. Assess the situation and whether it may be linked to other jurisdictional files…work them, find leads. The team will work with the federal agencies, have access to their resources if needed and determine when the agencies need to step in. The case will get handed off or you all will close them as the intermediary working between jurisdictions."

  Aidan mulled it over. Locals always bitched and moaned when the FBI came in and snatched a case from them. Ego, glory…there were tons of reasons as to why, so having a team as the go-between seemed like a viable solution to soften that transition. "I'm fine with Sunny, but you can't stick me with a group."

  "Think of it as a hybrid task force. We're gathering a group of people from different divisions. You and Mooney are the two coming from homicide. It's a small grou
p and no one's a paper-pusher. I think you'll fit right in."

  "Why me?"

  The captain raised a gray eyebrow. "You really have to ask me that? You're working on taking down one of the largest crime and drug rings the city has seen in over a decade, and six months ago you cracked down on a country-wide counterfeit auto parts dealer and an exotic car theft export network. You've helped contribute to the highest arrest record in the state. You've already worked with several government agencies. With your contacts and this team, I think the group can be quite effective."

  "I'm quite effective without a group."

  "You are. But this will make everyone better."

  "Yay team," he mumbled.

  "I know this isn't your ideal situation, but I need you to play nice with others. We both know Mooney will jump at the chance. She fights the glass ceiling at every opportunity so she's not going to sit on the sideline to pacify you. I've held them off as long as I can with every kind of excuse I could think of. They don't care."

  "Who's they?" Aidan asked, crossing his arms.

  "Way above my pay grade and yours. They asked me to assemble the task force from various departments. Your name was specifically mentioned…I'm guessing because of your existing work with the agencies on our other cases. There will be certain liberties with this group and the reach is far more than the tri-county area."

  Aidan uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. He glanced over to his right and spotted himself in the reflection of the silver pen holder. He reluctantly admitted his stare was a little angrier than the norm. He reached out and repositioned the cup-like object out of his line of sight. Even he couldn't stand himself sometimes.