Exposure

by Susan Andersen

  "But I haffa go potty."

  "I'll take you to the bathroom. Just let me make myself a cup of coffee and grab a shirt."

  "I haffa go now!"

  "Okay, okay, keep your shirt on. We're outta here."

  "Don't gots a shoot," Emma heard Gracie say as the door closed behind them. "These aw my jammies."

  Emma opened her eyes and pushed up on one elbow.

  Yawning, she squinted against the brilliant light pouring through the window. So they did get sunshine in this part of the world after all, huh? She had begun to wonder.

  She climbed out of bed and pulled on her leather jacket. Having heard the word "coffee," and spotting an electric coffeemaker on the bookshelf across the room, she was drawn to it as naturally as a nursing infant to its mother's breast. There was a gallon-sized bottle of distilled water on the floor and in the small, college dorm-sized refrigerator she found a half pound of Starbucks ground Sulawesi. Emma measured out the coffee and poured water into the reservoir, popping down the on switch. Within moments it began bubbling and hissing, and the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee filled the room.

  She was rummaging through her suitcase for something to wear when the door opened. Damn. She had hoped for a few more moments of privacy. But on looking up to see Gracie race into the room, she had to smile as she always did at her daughter's irrepressible enthusiasm. Elvis followed more slowly in Gracie's wake and Emma's smile faltered, all the moisture leaving her mouth. His only attire consisted of a ragged pair of cut-off sweatpants, riding low on his hips, and the leather straps that secured his prosthesis to his arm.

  Gracie launched herself at her mother. "Maman, you up!"

  Emma lifted her into her arms, cuddling her and accepting her sloppy good-morning kiss, kissing her in return, but Emma's eyes never left Elvis, seemingly glued on him. Dressed, he was a huge man. Nearly naked, with those shoulders, those thighs and calves, Dieu, that chest, with its fan of jet hair thinning out to arrow down the rigid muscles of his stomach and disappear under the low-slung waistband of his sweats, he was enormous. And so—God, so, so ...

  She shook her head helplessly. So.

  "Mornin'," he rumbled. He headed for the closet and pulled a long-sleeved denim shirt off a hanger. "Ah, I see you made coffee," he said. "Thanks. I'm not good for much before my first cup." When she failed to respond and simply stared at him, he added uncertainly, "It sure smells great."

  "Yeah." She shook herself free of the spell. "I, um, I'm just going to go get dressed." She set Gracie down with a little pat on the rear and edged toward the door, grateful when he shrugged on the shirt. Even if he didn't bother to button it up, it nevertheless covered most of him. Maybe luck would be on her side for once and he'd be all buttoned down in his uniform by the time she got back.

  "I saw Shewiff Elbis' penis, Mommy," Gracie announced brightly. "It's weally big, like that hoesie's we sawed that time, you bemember?"

  Shock stopped Emma in her tracks. Agonized betrayal in her eyes, she whipped her head around to stare at Elvis, her mouth forming the word "No." Even as she watched, a dull red climbed up his strong throat and spread across his face. His scar twitched. Shaking his head, he stammered, "Emma, it's not ... I had to take a ... Jesus, don't look at me like that; it's not what it must sound like. I swear to you."

  Gracie's voice overrode his. "It's way biggoo than Gwandpapa's."

  Emma stilled. Everything inside her went cold. Ah, Dieu, no. Please, please, no. She turned very slowly toward her daughter. "When did you see Grandpapa's penis, Grace Melina?" she asked in a carefully neutral voice.

  "Dunno." Gracie shrugged. "Seen it a couple a times."

  Emma licked her dry lips. "And what, um, was he doin' when you saw it, cherie?"

  Gracie gave her a brilliant smile. "Same thing as Elbis, silly. Goin' potty." Something struck her funny then, and a giggly laugh tickled her throat and burst free. "But Gwandpapa didn't go as long, Mommy. Shewiff Elbis, he wented and wented fo-evoo!"

  The sound that escaped Emma's throat then was a high-pitched little whimper of relief. A choked gurgle of laughter that was too close to hysteria for comfort. Tears filled her eyes, and hugging herself, she whirled to face the window.

  "Let's get you dressed, Gracie," Elvis suggested in his quiet, authoritative way. "You wanna come over here and show me what sort of stuff you like to wear?"

  " 'Kay." She skipped over to the open suitcase. "I wanna wear shoats today."

  "Shorts, huh? Yeah, all right; I guess summer's finally arrived. What do you think of these yellow ones?"

  "Pwetty!" She scrambled through the suitcase. "And this is my T-shoot goes with it—see the lellow flowers? Haffa have panties, too. And socks." She dug some more. "I yike these wuffled ones."

  "Yeah, I like those, too. Okay, that looks like the list. Come on over here." He spread her choices out on the end of the bed and patted the mattress where he wanted her to climb up. "Now keep in mind that I'm not very good at this, kid, so you're probably gonna have to help me. What do you call this big purple guy on your pajamas?"

  "That's Bawney."

  "Yeah? Well, let's get rid of him; whataya say?"

  He was sweating by the time they were finished. Gracie could be helpful, but unfortunately it was a helpfulness that tended to last for only seconds. Then something would catch her eye and she'd try to roll, walk, or wander toward it, even if they were right in the midst of donning one of the various items needed to attire her. He wiped his forearm across his forehead when he finally straightened. Gracie scampered off the bed.

  "Here," said a soft voice behind him. He turned to see Emma in her bare feet, wearing a satin nightie and the heavy unzipped leather jacket she had donned. She was extending a cup of coffee. An involuntary smile tried to tug up the corner of his mouth. She probably thought the jacket was a real effective cover-up. And it was, as far as not revealing her body went. But mostly the contrast of bulky, scuffed leather only served to stress the femininity of the slippery nightwear beneath it. And the body beneath that.

  He took the cup. "Thanks."

  "Thank you," she said. "For . . ." She tipped her head toward Gracie, who had climbed up onto the wide window sill and was kneeling with her nose pressed to the glass as she checked out the harbor view from Elvis' side of the building.

  "Man." Shaking his head, he gave Emma one of his rare smiles. "My respect for motherhood just shot up a hundredfold. Who woulda thought dressing one little kid could be so much work?"

  Emma gave him a look. "Yeah. Especially when you don't make her pitch in and help."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You're a pushover, Donnelly. At least where my petite ange is concerned. Gracie knows how to dress herself. You have to ride herd to keep her at it, and she requires help with buttons and zippers occasionally, but what she needs more than anything is strict supervision. You let her ride roughshod all over you."

  He stared at her openmouthed for a moment, then killed off his coffee with a few deep swallows.

  "Well, shit," he finally said.

  "Yeah." Emma's mouth tilted up in a faint, ironic smile. "Welcome to the wonderful world of parenting."

  "Emma . . ." He shifted in discomfort. "Look, I'm sorry about letting Gracie see my coc—er, that is, my uh . . ." Oh, man, he couldn't believe he was blushing. "Penis." He coughed. "I guess I didn't think it through. I had my morning hard . . . ahh ... I just had to go, you know? And after the ease with which she got taken away yesterday, I didn't think leaving her standing out in the hall while I, uh, took a leak was a good idea."

  He was so patently uncomfortable that Emma couldn't help but take pity on him. "It's okay, Elvis," she said gently. "I didn't really believe—"

  Try as he did to repress it, his expression nevertheless practically screamed bullshit, and she confessed, "Well, okay, for just a minute I did believe, I suppose; but not your basic way-down-deep-inside believe believe . . . not really. Ah, Dieu," she sighed, shoving her fingers through her sleep
-rumpled hair and hunching a shoulder. She peered up at him. "I'm mangling this. What I'm trying to say is, peeing in front of her isn't a crime. Most little girls Gracie's age probably go in and out of the bathroom all the time when their daddies are in there. But that's the thing, cher; that's why it's all such a big deal to her. Her daddy died before she was born, and she hasn't been exposed to very many men. Frankly, I didn't think she'd been exposed to any—not in the sense of seeing their private parts up close and personal. I know she tends to get a little fixated on male equipment when she does catch a glimpse, which is why she's still talkin' about a stallion's penis we once saw when we were picnicking."

  Elvis looked down at her thoughtfully. "Yeah, that explains Gracie, all right. And it's decent of you to let me off the hook."

  Emma almost smiled. Yes, it was fairly decent; she was rather amazed at herself. Remarkably, after all the fuss she'd gone through trying to get them out of town last night, it actually felt safe to be with Elvis in his room this morning. Safe for her, and more importantly, safe for Gracie. No one would ever think to come looking for them in the sheriff's room. And if someone should do so, she had faith that he would keep them from harm—at least for this one morning while they had the added protection of being under his roof.

  Elvis wasn't like most people; he didn't simply accept matters at face value. He dug for deeper reasons. And that was good, that was necessary in a situation like hers. Look at his rationale for not shoving Gracie out into the hallway to wait while he used the facilities. He had obviously been thinking like a cop.

  Which, she discovered in the next heartbeat, could be a detriment as well as an advantage.

  "What I don't understand," he was saying, his eyes on her as he slowly rolled his shirtsleeves up over first one forearm then the other, "is why you automatically assumed the worst. You thought I had exposed myself to her." The expression in his blue eyes pinned her in place. "We both know you did, and what I'd like to know is ... why is that, Em? Is it because someone has flashed her? Or"—he blanched at the thought—"oh, Jesus, not assaulted her?" Not that. Please, not that. He wasn't sure he could be responsible for keeping his hands off such a person!

  "N-No!" she stammered. "Of course not."

  Elvis recognized the ring of truth and relief washed through him. He nevertheless knew he was on the right track and pressed on relentlessly. "But you were afraid if you stuck around New Orleans someone might try to, am I right?"

  "Don't be ridiculous." She stood up straight and tall, chin thrust up at him.

  "I don't think I'm being ridiculous. Who was it?"

  She gave him a blank stare.

  "Who was it, Em?" He leaned down close and suggested quietly, "Gracie's grandfather, perhaps?"

  "Oh, Gawd."

  "Tell me, Emma."

  Her chin jacked up yet a few notches higher, and even as he watched, her expression locked up tight.

  She stood in front of him as if someone had rammed an iron rod up her spine, a mulish slant to her normally soft mouth.

  Curling his fingers around the zipper placket of her jacket, he pulled her a little nearer. Slowly he slid his hand up and down the leather, feeling it slide along the tunnel formed by his loose grip. Feeling the satin of her nightgown brush against the backs of his fingers. He bent his head until their noses were a mere inch away. "Tell me," he commanded intensely.

  Her posture wilted. Bottom lip trembling, she sucked it into her mouth and bit down hard while her brown eyes evaluated him. A moment later, the reddened lip slid free of the white teeth gripping it.

  "Yes," she whispered. "All right. I'll tell you." Her chin came up then. "But, Elvis, you've gotta promise me something in return. If I tell you, you've got to promise to let me and Gracie go then."

  Chapter 11

  Gracie saved him from having to promise anything. Unseen by either of them she had climbed down off the window sill and came trotting across the room. She threw her arms around his leg and hung there, craning her head way back to look up at him. "You gonna kiss my mommy?"

  Elvis pulled his eyes away from Emma and looked down at her daughter, wondering where that had come from. "I hadn't intended to," he replied honestly. But it sounds like a plan.

  "You standin' weally close yike you was gonna." She considered him for a minute, then unloosed his leg and stepped back. "Gimme a kiss."

  "Gracie," Emma started to reprimand her, but Elvis waved that away. He let go of her jacket and squatted down. Gracie immediately clambered up onto his knee and threw her arms around his neck. She planted a damp but enthusiastic kiss on his mouth. Then she pulled back and unhooked an arm to yank up her little flowered T-shirt. "Wanna wazzbewwy, too." She laughed herself silly when he blew a satisfyingly rude noise, long and loud, on her stomach. Then she jumped off his knee.

  "Give Maman a kiss now," she demanded and commenced to dance a little wildly in place. "Kiss Mommy, kiss Mommy!"

  "Grace Melina, that's enough," Emma said sternly. "You're becomin' somewhat obnoxious." She grimaced ruefully at Elvis as he rose to his feet. "I'm sorry," she said. "She's a little wound up." Turning to her daughter she held her hand out. "Come help Maman pick out somethin' to wear, cherie. You and Elvis are all dolled up—it's time I got dressed, too."

  Gracie was instantly diverted. "Wear shoats," she demanded as she skipped along at her mother's side. Stopping at the open suitcase, she threw her arms around her mother's legs and rubbed her face against the satin nightgown as she looked up at her. "Yike me, Mommy; 'kay?"

  "Shorts it is," Emma agreed. "If there are any in here, that is. Oh, yes, here's a pair."

  "I'll go down and get the spare key to your room," Elvis offered. "You wanna go with me, Gracie girl? Then your momma can take her shower."

  "Okey dokey." She left Emma's side in a red-hot minute and trotted over to his.

  Elvis looked past her at Emma. "Take all the time you need," he instructed. "We'll unload the car."

  "No; that won't be necessary," Emma swiftly assured him. "Remember your prom—"

  "Right," he interrupted before she could suddenly recall that he hadn't actually promised a thing. "I'll leave the bags where they are. We'll come up with another way to kill twenty minutes, won't we, kid? And don't worry." Looking at Emma, he indicated Gracie with a slight tilt of his jaw. "I'm not gonna let her out of my sight."

  "Listen, this is really very nice of you. But isn't it goin' to interfere with your work?"

  "Nope. Day off." He gave her a lopsided little quirk of his lips and shrugged. "Even small-town sheriffs get one occasionally."

  "In that case . . . and if you're sure it's not an imposition"—Emma had been gathering together her toiletries and a change of clothing and she met him at the door—"thank you, Elvis."

  "No problem. Oh, and Gracie?"

  "Yes, Shewiff?"

  "This is for you, sweetheart." With those words, his left arm suddenly snaked around Emma's waist and yanked her to him, bending her backward theatrically. Emma's stack of clothes and toiletries clattered to the floor. Plunging his right hand into her silky hair, Elvis kissed her thoroughly while Gracie squirmed and giggled with delight.

  Emma grabbed for the button plackets of his open shirt and just tried her best to hang on as sensations exploded inside of her like so many special effects in a Steven Spielberg movie. It was a joke ... in a dim corner of her mind she knew that. She wasn't about to make a fool of herself by kissing him back as if she were dying for it.

  At least that was the plan, fuzzy-minded and nebulous as it was. Elvis must have had a different one. He didn't raise his head until his shirt was a wrinkled mass from her gripping fingers. Until her mouth was swollen and stung from kissing him back.

  As if she'd been dying for it.

  * * * * *

  It was almost two hours later before the three of them walked away from town to a deserted stretch of beach. Elvis, who had developed an ironclad professional patience years ago, was ready to chew nails.

&
nbsp; There was an aspect of arrogance built into most police work, an expectation of instant compliance that law enforcers became accustomed to receiving. If there were questions to be asked, a cop had the authority to demand immediate answers. Elvis wasn't in the habit of dealing with situations that included little girls whose needs had to be met before he could do his job.

  Kissing Emma was clearly not the smartest thing he could have done this morning. It would have been okay if he'd just kept it brief and simple the way he'd originally intended. But no, he'd had to get all caught up in it. He'd tasted her mouth under his, so cool and controlled, and had thought, Oh no, doll, you can do much better than this. Gracie's giggles had faded into the background, blood had roared in his ears, and he'd lost himself in the pursuit of a response. Then when he'd gotten one . . .

  Damn. He shook himself. No sense in dwelling on that now. Except to say that by the time he'd dragged himself away, instead of finding a pleased little girl, he noted that Gracie's giggles had disappeared and she stood staring up at him with huge uncertain eyes, her thumb tucked into her mouth.

  What a dumb shit he was. Between them, he and Emma had generated enough electricity to make the body hair of anyone within a hundred-yard radius stand on end. Unquestionably Gracie had felt the vibrations, and too young to know what they were, had been made uneasy by the intensity of it all. He didn't even have to shut his eyes to see the look on her face when he'd finally released Emma and straightened up.

  * * * * *

  Gracie studied her mother. "He hoot you?" she asked around her thumb.

  Emma dropped to a crouch and pulled Gracie into her arms for a quick hug. "Ah, no, bebe." Over her head she shot Elvis a dirty look, but was smiling gently when she moved Gracie away to hold her at arm's length. "Elvis was just playin' with Maman. He wanted to make you laugh."

  Gracie glanced at Elvis dubiously, then looked back at her mother. "We go to our own woom now?" she suggested hopefully.