by Joey W. Hill
"No, it's okay. It might take me a few days to get to it." At Leland's quizzical gaze, she put her hand over the phone. "My sister needs me to pick up a box at my mom's."
"We can get it on the way if you want."
It was bad enough Leland was seeing her living space. Letting him see where she'd grown up and having him meet her mother? Not happening.
So she shook her head, ignored the disappointment in Trice's voice. "I promise I'll do it soon, Trice. Hopefully before the end of the week. Don't worry. I'll call Mom and tell her to hold on to it until then."
"Oh, okay." Relief took over from disappointment. "You're the only one she halfway pays attention to anyway. It should be fine, then. Uh, I have to get back to work. Hope everything's good there?"
Translation: Please just say fine so we don't have to stay on the phone with one another. "Yep. All's good here. I'll text you when I ship the box."
"Celeste, we have time," Leland said when she clicked off. "Unless she's hell and gone in the opposite direction."
Her mother lived just outside Baton Rouge, right on the route toward New Orleans. She was tempted to tell him she lived in Texas or California or Alaska, but what would happen when he found out differently? Thinking about her relationship with him lasting that long was unsettling enough. She wouldn't inject a lie into the mix.
"Not today," she said shortly. "I just can't deal with my mom today."
"Even if you have a cop at your back?" His brow creased. "Is that the problem? Why I'm escorting you to New Orleans might upset her?"
"No, not really." She could show up on her mother's doorstep with a Secret Service protection detail, have open boils on her face and be wearing a clown costume, and her mother would never think to ask her anything about herself. Then she bit her lip, because she could have seized that opening as the best reason not to go by. She needed to work on her ability to lie to him. Yeah, because that was the secret to a successful relationship, right?
Leland stepped closer to her again. If he took her hand, it gave her that feeling of safety, of warmth. When he gripped her wrist as he did now, his fingers caressing her pulse and palm, that feeling was enhanced by a weakening in her knees, a funny feeling in her belly, especially when he combined it with the chin tip, holding her face. "Celeste, what's the problem? Mama will have a stroke and die if she sees you're involved with a black guy?"
"If I thought that would happen, I'd take you there in a heartbeat." Oh Christ, she hadn't meant that. She shook her head at his look. "Sorry. When we were growing up, the white girls in the trailer park would do that sometimes. Bring black boys home to upset their parents. It's sort of like that, but not what you think."
"Are you ashamed of being with me?" He asked the question neutrally and her brows shot up to her hairline.
"Seriously? No. Double no." She sighed. "The worst she'll do on that score is pull me off to the side and say something like 'Is this the best you think you can do?', as if you're less, because you're black. Typical white trash reaction, but I don't want her to treat you like that. I don't subject anyone I care about to my mother." She tried for a smile. "Don't let that go to your head. I would include casual acquaintances on that list."
He considered that. "You have enough to worry about, and I don't want you stressing about that box. Let's go by and get it. You'll introduce me to her, and she'll do what she's going to do. I'm going to respect her as long as she respects you, because she's your mother."
"I'd really rather not go there."
"Will that be any different when you get back? It's already been a shitty day, what with getting shot at and what happened to Jai. Why not just get all the shitty stuff done in one fell swoop?" He dropped his grip to her hand, laced fingers. "And you get to do it with someone watching your back."
She couldn't give in to him on this one. It was beyond a bad idea, especially after everything else today. But she didn't want to talk to her mother about keeping the box for a few days, either. If she went by and picked it up, it would be over.
"You like watching my back just because it gives you an excuse to look at my ass," she said, putting him off, trying to rally a defense that would end the conversation before she agreed to something cosmically stupid.
"Don't need an excuse. I plan to do a lot more looking at it. Among other things." He touched her face. "Let's go stop by your mom's and head for New Orleans. And as tempting as the hotel idea sounds, I have a better idea for you. Marcie is staying at Lucas and Cassandra's this week. They have a big place. I want you to stay there until the wedding. I'll drop you by there tonight and come back tomorrow night after my shift."
"Are you insane? The last thing Marcie needs this week is--"
Her phone started to ring again and she glanced down, saw the screen. This time her eyes flashed. "I don't need to be handled."
"I didn't say you did. But I figured you'd feel better about it if you heard it from her lips."
Celeste put the phone up to her ear. "Marcie, what an astounding surprise," she said, caustically enough he had to school himself not to wince. "Let me guess. You got a call from one sexist asshole, who talked to another sexist asshole, and they came to the brilliant conclusion that your wedding plans needed to be disrupted to give me a place to stay that I don't really need."
He narrowed his gaze at her, temper flaring, but then he saw her mouth tighten. "Yes, but that's beside the point. A hotel would serve the same purpose, and I wouldn't have to worry about disrupting... Max and Dale? Yes, I'm sure I'll be safe, but... You know I'm happy to help you with that, but you're just making up stuff for me to do. If I came, I'd hide in a guestroom and you wouldn't even know I'm there." Her eyes sparked as she realized she'd walked neatly into that. He could almost hear Marcie saying in her practical way. "See? It's all settled then."
"Fine. I'm going to talk this over with Leland, though. I'll call you when I get to New Orleans."
She shoved the phone in her jeans pocket and whirled on him. "Really? You drag my friends into this, risk them? Make them think I can't handle my own life? You and I have already been down this road. Yes, there may be things about me that respond to...things about you, but this," she swept her hand around the room, "this is me. This is who I am and what I do. If you can't handle that, then you need to step the hell back and let me get on with my life."
"You really think I'd take you to them if I thought there was a significant risk?" He bumped toes with her. It made her have to tilt her head to look at him, which obviously irritated her more. Since she'd already found out that slapping her hands on his chest and shoving would be as effective as moving a brick wall, she stalked around him, put the kitchen table between them before she pivoted to face him again. He curled his large hands on the chair on his side and glared at her. "No one associated with Dogboy or the MoneyBoyz would expect you to be there. Max and Dale on the property is an added measure of security. You shouldn't use your credit card or do anything that sets up a paper trail for the next few days. Staying with a friend can help with that."
"But you didn't ask me how I felt about that. You just set it up like I didn't have a brain in my head."
"I set it up because my first priority is keeping you safe," he snapped. "I can't drag you there by your hair, woman. It's your choice to go or not to go, but if you don't go, I will take personal days and fucking sleep on your doorstep. I will hound your every step until we find this guy. Because I'm not going to let something happen to you just because you think this is some fucking political statement about you being a woman. A bullet kills a big, strong man as easy as a sharp-tongued woman. Just ask Jai. And this particular bastard doesn't just want to shoot you." He stabbed his finger at her corkboard. "He strangles them, stabs them, rapes them. You really think I'm going to let you getting pissy stand in the way of doing whatever the hell I need to do to protect you from that?"
He didn't raise his voice often, but she had him snarling. She'd taken a mirror stance during his diatribe, white-knu
ckling the chair on the other side. Her eyes were still angry, but he saw other things there, too. It had been a fucking stressful, crappy day, and now he was shouting at her.
"Damn it, Celeste," he said, his voice softening, but she shook her head. Gazed down at her hands, the table, all those clippings she'd yet to pin onto her board.
"I'll pack up a few of these notes to take with me. Other than that, I'm ready to go."
She leaned over to pick up an empty tote off the arm of a chair. His height gave him the reach to place his hand over hers.
"No. It's okay," she said, drawing away. "Let's just go."
Chapter Eleven
They stopped at Leland's house for him to change into his street clothes and to pick up his truck. Celeste didn't want to come inside. Rather than argue with her about it, he settled her on his porch swing which was screened behind lattice. She suspected he was keeping an eye on her through the blinds of his front window. She told herself he was smothering her but she couldn't stay worked up about it too much. She gazed at the mum plantings around the lawn jockey painted like a police officer. The lattice turned everything into small, manageable squares. Across the street, an elderly lady was sitting on her porch reading a paper, an ancient-looking, brindle-colored dog lying on her feet. She wondered if the woman was Gilly.
Leland stepped back out on the porch, dressed in blue jeans and a dark-green button-down, tucked in and belted. Dressing was so easy for men. A shirt shrugged over those broad shoulders, jeans pulled up over the fine ass, and he was good to go.
"Fast as Superman," she muttered, and he slid a glance her way. He had a plastic container in one hand and a couple bottles of water tucked under his arm. He lifted the container.
"I have cookies. Better be nice to me."
Charm was not going to work on her. Or cookies. But she took his offered hand and let him guide her back down the steps. "Is that Gilly?"
As he glanced across the street and saw the woman, she gave him a casual wave and a warm smile. Her speculative look at Celeste was far less friendly.
"Yeah, that's Gilly. Don't let the sweet little old lady act fool you. She's sharp as a switchblade."
"I got that from her look. I think she sees me as competition for her granddaughters."
Leland opened the passenger door, helped her up into the seat. Celeste made herself let go of his hand though she wanted to keep holding it. She was pissed at him, she reminded herself.
"Yeah." Leland rolled his eyes. "I'm in for the 'What, colored girls aren't good enough for you?' speech. She'll probably spit in the next batch of tea she makes me."
He closed the door and circled around. When he slid into his seat, he asked her for her mother's address. He'd probably expected her to fight him again about stopping there, and she'd thought about it, but she found she didn't have the energy. She gave him the address. She didn't know if he recognized the area as a run-down trailer park, but his expression didn't change when she gave him the directions. He backed out, swerving around his parked police unit, waved to Gilly again, and they were on their way.
For the next ten minutes, they didn't talk much. He asked her a few things about how giving the statement had gone, how Detective Allen had treated her. Another silence reigned. She thought of a hundred ways to renew her attack about him contacting Marcie, but she saw Jai bleeding in his arms again, and found herself struggling with a different set of emotions. A couple more miles, and she spoke.
"I'm not used to someone caring about me like you do."
He glanced in the side mirror, changed lanes to pass a beat-up pickup. "I'm sorry I sprung it on you like that. You're right, I probably should have told you first."
"Before you went ahead and did it anyway." She gave him a glimmer of a smile and received one back. It warmed her more than she should have allowed it to do, but when he laid his hand on the console, palm up, she put hers in it, felt that little easing inside when his fingers closed over hers. "This is going to suck," she said bluntly. "There are story leads I can follow up in New Orleans, but I'm assuming you want me to stay incommunicado with everyone for the next few days so I don't send up any alarms."
"It would be wise. I'm sure the MoneyBoyz have some contacts in NOLA. I wouldn't make any calls from your phone, either. We'll pick up a burner phone you can use."
She knew it would be suicide for her to go out and pursue face-to-face interviews until it was resolved. But it still rankled to be prevented from doing her job.
"It's too easy for them to put eyes in my neighborhood," he continued. "Else I would have had you stay at my place. My bed or my couch," he added, giving her a look. "Your choice."
She wasn't ready to tell him there was nowhere she'd ever felt as safe as when she was curled inside the curve of his body, in his bed. "You can stay in the car at my mom's, if you want. It should only take a second."
"I'll come in and meet her, at least say hello. So it can chap her ass that you're dating such a good-looking stud as myself."
She managed a better smile this time. "You know, I'm a bitch all the time. It doesn't really wear off, so the effort you put into buttering me up is kind of wasted."
"It's my time to waste," he pointed out. Lifting her hand to his mouth, he kissed her fingers, squeezed as she considered the unexpected feelings such a courtly gesture sent through her. "And the bitch part may be skin-deep, but when I get down to your heart, I don't see a trace of her there, Celeste. I think that's why you need me to push you so hard as a sub. Because that heart is who you really are, and you need to pass a stress test to feel comfortable letting that show."
She didn't know what to say to that, so she let another, more comfortable silence prevail for another few miles before speaking again. "So I guess you'll want me to meet your family at some point. Like your aunt, or brothers and sisters?"
"That'd be nice. My aunt and my sister live together in Raleigh. They might give me some of the 'What, you couldn't find a nice black girl?' attitude, just like Gilly will, but I expect they'll really like you once they get to know you."
"Most people like me more when they don't."
He grinned. "Not me. The more I know, the more I think I want to keep you."
"You make me sound like a stray cat."
"I'm fond of your claws."
"So you don't date black women?"
"Didn't say that. I just don't choose my relationships based on the same criteria I'd use to match my drapes to my couch. And I don't date, remember?" He kissed her hand and kept it, their fingers a loose tangled knot on his thigh, the worn denim against the side of her hand.
He had a good memory for directions. Before she had to cue him, he'd already flipped on his right signal to make the turn off the highway into a rural neighborhood. She watched the houses go by, small but neat homes with elderly long-term residents or working families who had ambitions for more. As they drew closer to their next turn, those houses gave way to less maintained structures, with algae-stained siding and buckled roofs, the occasional black trash bag duct-taped over a broken window. Rusty cars and old appliances sat in yards that never saw a mower, and suspicious-eyed inhabitants sitting on their porches didn't smile as they went by. She lost count of the No Trespassing signs on mailboxes.
Mrs. Davidson still had chickens, she noted, the hens scratching and busy in her bare front yard. Leland made the turn at that corner. The bumpy road had been that way as long as she could remember, potholes from the rain making the truck rock, the weeds choking the roadsides. It was all fields on either side for about a mile, fields that had once been farmland. When they reached the place where the trailers were, the "Haven Trailer Park" sign that marked their location was faded and peeling, almost unreadable.
She clenched her hands in her lap. "Leland, maybe we should just keep going. I really can pick this up later."
"Hey." He touched her leg, met her gaze. "It's okay, darlin'. I'm here. It'll be all right."
They pulled up to the trailer. About eigh
t years ago, her mother had bought a new one, a double-wide. She'd had to replace the one that had become so rusted there were holes under the thin carpet. The new one was five years old when she bought it and her mother treated it no better, so it was already just as crappy-looking as the previous. There were two doors, one at either end of the front of the trailer. A cracked set of concrete steps led up to one, but at the other end, a small porch with a ramp had been built recently. The golden pine gleamed. An awning off the side rail protected a gleaming grill.
So the new guy had some money, but not enough to move her mother off to a fancy house, her mother's lifelong ambition. The ramp made Celeste frown. She knew her mom hadn't had an accident, let alone one serious enough to require a structural addition to the trailer. If she had, she would have immediately called Celeste to care for and help her.
Her mother opened the door then, confirming it. Ginny Lewis had always kept herself in good shape. She knew her figure was her best asset, whether for her many waitressing jobs or hooking a man with money. Her generous breasts and rounded hips were showcased in a snug T-shirt and jeans, her thick brown hair carefully dyed to conceal the gray pulled back in a ponytail. Though she had the calculating mind and narrow vision of a mean-spirited whore, she didn't make herself up like one. She'd spent plenty of time at department store makeup counters, taking advantage of the free makeovers when she had a lucrative fish on the line.
She'd had a brief period of glory in high school as a cheerleader, before she got pregnant with Celeste. She'd seduced the high school principal and tried to pin a molestation charge on him when he refused to leave his wife. He was fired, and ended up working for an auto parts store. Since the wife forgave him and they left Baton Rouge, Ginny spent a few years living off of the dubious good will of acquaintances and temporary boyfriends, which was when Celeste had lived in the inner city apartments she'd mentioned to Leland.