by Becky Flade
His eyes swept over her, and he strode past her parents without a word, his focus on her. She barely noticed her parents stepping into the hall—her attention on him. He laid his cheek against hers, both giving and taking comfort. She hadn’t known until she saw him, not until after it had been returned, that a piece of her had been missing when he was gone. I love him.
Hooked up to machines, in an undignified hospital gown, with her parents right outside the door was neither the time nor the place to bare her heart. She swallowed the urge to confess her emotions, along with the knot of tears lodged in her throat, and smiled instead.
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired. Really, really tired. Did you know my family is freaking huge and a little nuts?”
He nodded, running his fingers over her arm. “I know.”
“Will you stay?”
He nodded again, linking their hands.
“Thank God. Please convince my parents they can go before I have them committed. This hospital has a psyche ward, right?”
Her parents returned, but to say goodnight. The process was full of kisses and warnings, promises to return and demands they be called if there were any developments through the night. She closed her eyes and basked in the silence after they’d taken their leave. When she opened them, Jayson smiled.
“I went to your house.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He held the backpack he came in with, gave it a pat. “I grabbed serviceable panties. Your iPod, slippers, and the trashy paperback I caught you reading in the tub the other night, along with your toothbrush, your deodorant and this.”
From inside the bag, he pulled out a small, stuffed Red Fraggle. She’d had one just like it. It had hung clipped to her backpack for four years. She’d wrapped the original Red in plastic and stored it in a box with her yearbook, her diaries and other things she’d held dear from childhood. He’d remembered it and gone to the trouble of finding her a new one.
“I’m crazy about you.”
“All it took for you to realize that was Red, huh? I wasted a small fortune on flowers.”
Someone cleared their throat near the door. She found her partner and her captain discreetly looking at the wall rather than at them. She straightened her gown and linens. Then attempted to sit at attention, but her ribs protested and she hissed.
“I don’t care what his rank is,” he whispered, “he causes you pain again, and he’s out of here. Even if I have to throw him out.”
He sat on the edge of her bed, his hand wrapped in hers, and turned toward the door. Yeah, no chance he’ll wait in the hall. Shit. The two men stepped inside the room. From their disposition, this was an official visit.
“Captain Cornwell, this is Jayson Donovan, a close friend. Does your visit require privacy?”
“Relax, Parker. We need to speak with Mr. Donovan as well. He can stay.”
“We’ve identified the men who assaulted you.” Matt’s posture was rigid, more than usual.
“That was fast.” She smiled. None of the men around her seemed to share her enthusiasm.
“They turned themselves in and have confessed.”
“I don’t understand. Why would they attack me and then surrender?”
Jayson remained silent, his thumb rubbing over her palm, pacing in a way, the only indication he listened. He looked casual and uninterested. I think he’s very interested.
“The big guy goes by King because of the ink. His buddy is Derrick Smalls. Yeah, the little guy’s name is Smalls. And yeah, you broke his nose. Both men were beaten and dropped on the precinct doorstep. Neither have anything to say beyond confessing to the assault on you at the request of Claude Thurmond, whom, if you remember, you arrested that afternoon. The young man from the paintball shop has already identified both King and Smalls. All three men have been brought up on charges.”
“Person, or persons unknown, found the two men who attacked me beat them senseless and dumped them out front of our precinct. And both men are scared enough to keep quiet about who did it, confessed to attacking me, and turned on the friend who set them on me in the first place. That’s what you’re telling me?”
“Yes,” Matt answered.
“In a nut shell,” the Captain agreed. “Is there anything you would care to add, Mr. Donovan?”
“Sounds like a win for the good guys.”
“Is that it?”
“Why look a gift horse in the mouth?”
“Jayson Donovan, did you have anything to do with the kidnapping, assault, battery, and threatening of Ramsey “King” Boothe and Derrick “JuJu” Smalls?” Matt asked.
“If you expect me to answer without being properly Mirandized and offered the services of an attorney, someone must have knocked you around some. Again.”
“If you don’t have anything to hide, you should be able to answer the question.”
Matt continued despite the quiet warning issued by their captain.
“How about you focus seeing the men responsible for putting your partner in the hospital are justly punished instead of looking for something you can hang on my head?” He stared at her Captain. “I find it difficult to believe you’d sanction distressing her mere hours after she survived a life and death medical procedure.”
They left with as little fanfare as they’d arrived. She knew he was involved. Who else would have the clout necessary to generate that kind of fear on the street and cared about what happened to me? Do I want to know? Would he give his life if I asked? The sweetness of earlier was lost. The visit had tainted the moment for her. The cop and the crook. Could it ever work?
He lay down beside her on the bed and stretched his arm up over the edge of the mattress. She laid her head over his heart and listened to it beat under her cheek. Exhaustion swept over her, and she tumbled closer to slumber.
“Did you?”
“What do you think, baby?” He kissed the bandage protecting the stitches they’d used to close the gash in her head. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you. Ever. Respect for you and what you believe in is why they’re in lockup and not the morgue.”
He hadn’t lied. She snuggled in as best she could without hurting herself or pushing him off the mattress. She didn’t approve of what he’d done. Why then am I glad he did it?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Sweet Jesus, stop fussing.”
He checked her seatbelt for a second time. The bruises on her face were fading, most of the stitches had been removed, and her ribs were sore, but healing well. She was done with nurses and needles and crappy food. She wanted a bubble bath, a beer and a big slice of her sister’s Black Forest cheesecake. And sex. All at once. Separately. She didn’t care at this point.
Okay, the bubble bath is still out of the question, but a long hot shower is first on her list. Right after convincing Jayson she hadn’t morphed into a pansy while she’d been recovering. But then, I’m getting a beer and some cake. Maybe a cheesesteak too.
“Are you comfortable? The strap isn’t too tight is it?”
“Oh, my God, if you don’t stop and get in this car right now, I’m going to get out and hitch-hike home.”
His stricken expression shamed her. He took care of her while she recovered; ran interference with her family; and sweet talked the nurses into bending some of the rules, like co-sleeping in the same bed. He hadn’t once answered his cell phone. He’d even endured Matt’s company. And I snapped at him. Like a big bitch.
“I’m sorry. I’m not mad. I just want to go home.” She smiled, big and bright into his beautiful blue eyes. “Take me home.”
He obliged, hurrying around to the driver’s seat. The air had grown cooler. The leaves had started to change color as she’d watched from a hospital window. She’d missed the end of summer. I’m not missing another moment. She rolled down the window, laid her head back against the seat, and enjoyed the early autumn sun on her face.
“Kylee, baby, we’re here.”
She opened her ey
es. Jayson filled her vision. “I fell asleep.”
The branches of the tree canopying the little sitting area where they’d shared iced tea in the spring were turning gold and red behind him. I’m home. She smiled and reached for his face, cupping his cheek in her palm.
“Thank you. Not just for bringing me home, but for taking care of me. And for making sure the men responsible will be held accountable.”
He scooped her into his arms and lifted her from the car.
“I think I can get the rest of the way on my own.”
“Nope. You’re getting the full treatment.”
He carried her over the threshold and into her kitchen. She always kept it clean, but it looked and smelled like someone had recently wiped down the counters and windows. There were fresh flowers on her table, and the faint smell of lemon lingered.
“My mom was here, huh?”
“And mine.”
He walked through the living room and dining room, all just as clean and fresh as the kitchen had been with her in his arms. “My mom saw what happened on the news, and called your mom wanting to know what she could do to help. She felt she should since you were so good to her when she was hurt. It was strange for me, seeing your mom and my mom together.”
“How is she?”
“She’s doing well with Amelia gone. She’s going to an Al-anon meeting not far from her house. Met a woman who survived the same cycle of abuse. It’s a kind of miracle I think.” He turned into her bedroom and laid her down on the bed. “Are you cold? Thirsty? Hungry?”
She shook her head no.
“Everyone thinks you’re coming home tomorrow so today should be quiet, no interruptions. I’m going to get the rest of the stuff from the car. Be right back.”
He hurried out, much quicker than he’d moved as he’d carried her through the house and oh so unceremoniously dumped her on the bed. She wanted to be hurt, but she’d anticipated this. He’s going to balk. He’s been taking care of her and, she suspected, thought she wasn’t ready for intimacy. I am getting him naked.
She eased from the bed. Moving with care, she made her way to the bureau and pulled open the slender top drawer. He needs to see me as a woman, not a victim. He’d grouped together a few pair of skimpier, lacier panties in the right-hand corner and left a scrap of paper on top with a small happy face drawn on it.
A small happy face complete with devil horns. She laughed out loud and picked a black pair from the top.
She shimmied out of the plain white bikinis and slipped on the sexier garment. She stepped to the closet and pulled out the black, silk robe covered in gilded dragons that had been a souvenir from a girlfriend’s trip to the Orient. She’d never worn it, considered it more for show than for function. This felt like both.
Getting out of her shirt proved more difficult than she’d anticipated, and she was panting, sweat popping out on her upper lip in an embarrassing fashion. She eased into the robe, lightly knotting the belt. Wiped her lip and listened. He was downstairs and could be coming to check on her any second.
She sprayed on an expensive perfume and glanced in the mirror over her dresser. The swelling had gone down, and the bruising wasn’t as bad, her complexion had yellowed, and the scar on her cheekbone stood out. Since she kept her hair short, the bald spot and stitches were impossible to hide. She heard him on the stairs. Oh well, if I let that stand in my way, no reason he shouldn’t too.
She hurried as best she could to recline across the bed and pulled the robe to cover the surgery wounds on her chest. They were still ugly and raw, much more so than her face. They wouldn’t win her the day.
And I intend to win.
“Ky…” whatever he’d been going to ask died on his lips when he stepped into the room.
Twin spikes of fear and lust flamed in his deep blue eyes and his Adam's apple bobbled. She nearly purred and trailed a finger down the edge of the robe.
“What are you doing?”
“Resting like you told me.”
“What are you wearing?”
“A robe, but what’s under it is more interesting. Why don’t you come over here? There’s plenty of room.”
He shook his head. She laughed like she hadn’t in weeks and shrugged one shoulder free of the robe. His eyes flicked to the bare curve of her shoulder. She’d never felt so sexy or bold. And I thought I’d be self-conscious.
“Suit yourself. I’ll just have to come to you.”
His eyes narrowed and darted as she slid from the bed. Please, don’t look stupid. I want him to want me. He held up a hand as though he were a crossing guard warning a vehicle to stop.
“The doctor said you need to rest.”
“Yep.” She stepped closer to where he stood statue straight. “And I will. After.”
When she reached him, he scooped her into his arms and carried her back to the bed. Thinks he’s going to put me back to bed, tuck me in, pat me on the head, and then make a run for it. I don’t think so. She wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her lips on the pulse running, dashing, just under his skin.
“I want you, Jase. I need you. Please, make love with me.”
He groaned. And she won.
She lay in the center of the bed as he removed his clothes. His body was long and lean, the muscles lending his frame subtle, masculine curves dusted in crisp dark hair. The bed dipped as he lay beside her. He skimmed gentle hands and hungry eyes over her curves; loosed the belt on the robe until it fell open baring fresh scars and fading bruises.
“Beautiful.” He trailed light feathery kisses up her neck until they faced each other and he’d wrapped both her hands in his. “I love you, Kylee.”
“I love you, Jayson.”
* * *
His stomach grumbling, he slipped from the bed. Their lovemaking had been slow and exquisite—he’d been careful with her—but she was exhausted regardless. He pulled his jeans on and snuck down to the kitchen, careful to make as little noise as possible. As he poked around in the fridge, his cell vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it and viewed the screen with resignation. He couldn’t continue avoiding Chic.
“Where you been?”
“At the hospital. What can I do for you?”
“It’s not that simple. You use my name, my rep, to find and punish the mopes who beat on your girl and then ignore my calls for two weeks?”
“I didn’t think you would mind. Feeling as you do about men who put hands on an unarmed woman. All that respect for women you have.”
“This is about your recent lack of respect. The lady cop is in your head. You’ve put her above me and my business. I can’t be having that.” He paused. “End it with the cop or I will. What King and Smalls did to her is nothing compared to how she’ll look when my guys are done. And then there’s that big family of hers. I hear she’s got a pretty little sister. Understand?”
“Yeah, I understand.” He disconnected.
She would stand with him; she wouldn’t be cowed by threats. He couldn’t keep her, or the rest of them, safe twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Christ, she finds out Chic threatened her family, her sister; she’s liable to go off after him.
He sat at the kitchen table not seeing the sunset beyond the windows. He sat while twilight grew deeper. I don’t have a lot of options here. No matter what I have to keep her safe. His heart heavy, he decided. And made a call.
“Hi, Mrs. Parker.”
“Jayson. Is everything okay? Kylee?”
“She’s fine. In fact, she was discharged earlier. She’s home, sleeping, but I have to go, can someone come over? She shouldn’t be alone.”
“Sure.” She hesitated. “Are you sure everything is okay? You sound funny.”
“It will be. Thanks.”
“I’ll send Keith over now.”
“Thanks again. And Mrs. Parker? I love you.”
Close to tears, he ended the call. Then he crept up the stairs and into Kylee’s bedroom. He needed his shirt, his socks, and shoes. I n
eed to see her face. He kissed her; ran his fingertips over the line of her jaw. She sighed, her lips bowed as though they wanted to smile. I wish I could take her sigh and smile with me.
“I love you more than you could ever know.”
Then he left.
PART TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Six years later
The growl of the engine was a Harley. Though she’d stopped staring at every motorcycle that passed by years ago, she could still tell one make from another. She’d stopped running to the window every time she heard one on her street. But she couldn’t stop listening with half an ear. Fool. She shook her head in self-disgust and resumed mopping.
A shadow fell over the kitchen floor, and her heart hiccupped. She knew, she just knew. She lifted her head and stared. Jayson Donovan stood on her back stoop, the sun shining behind him. He’s alive. He chose to leave. Rage boiled within, but she looked down and continued mopping.
“Kylee.”
His voice was pitched low, but he might as well have screamed her name the way it echoed in her ears. In her heart. It’s breaking all over again.
“Can I come in, please?”
“Go to hell.” She stowed the mop on its peg inside the cellar door and crossed to the door. He smiled. Inches away, a thin screen door all that separated them. She closed and locked the heavy door. She stopped midway through the dining room when the door opened behind her. The spare key.
“Still can’t find a better hiding spot?”
She kept her back to him. Didn’t respond.
“You let your hair grow long. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. Please, can we talk?”
He touched her arm, and she whirled around, incensed.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t you ever touch me. Get out of my house. Get out, or I swear I’ll…”
The front door opened, and her world spun out of control.
“Oh God,” she whispered.