Liddy gloated. A foolish man tended to do very rash things when provoked. And God help them, both were being provoked into the point of brain-dead. Even so, she’d caught herself from swaying toward the heated intensity of his anger.
“I was simply telling that woman the truth,” she smarted.
“The truth?” he balked at. “The fucking truth? Do you even know what the truth is?”
“Yes, I do, even if you don’t. Without an annulment signed in ink, we are still married. Which makes you, whether you like it or not, my husband.”
“On paper only, you fucking witch!” he ground out. “It sure as hell doesn’t give you the right to be a catty bitch to Rachel. She doesn’t deserve that shit from you. And neither do I deserve any of this.”
“Oh! And I deserve what’s happening to me?”
Her sight slipped to the man’s fingers clamped onto her upper arm; fingers that were digging painfully into her bare flesh.
Jake noticed her downfall gaze and quickly dropped her arm. “Damn you, Liddy!”
Catching sight of her bruising skin, he actually seemed remorseful. That remorse lasted for one lousy second. A second Liddy didn’t fully enjoy as he added, “Damn you to Hell!”
Chapter Nine
This was the second time today where he’d clamped his hand onto his walkabout wife when in anger.
Jake wasn’t usually prone to hurting women, even though Liddy deserved his wrath, and then some. He would rather love a woman, than ever hurt one. But damnit!
Liddy took a deep breath and held it. Jake simply flared his nostrils. Each stared the other down, each trying not to cave. However, the one in the most pain was the first to pull away, the first to give in. Jake glanced at his watch and groaned. Only seventy-one hours, forty-two minutes and ten seconds to go! He should be able to make it through a few more hours within Liddy’s presence. He’d certainly been through far worse in his relatively short life. Two years in the slammer ring a bell?
He strode over to where his ice pack lay, unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, dropped the blood-soaked material carelessly to the floor, then placed the cold directly onto his badly damaged arm. His sigh was heavy as he slumped onto the hard metal bench. With eyes closed, he did not see Liddy staring at his bared flesh.
Nor did he catch sight of her shock to the nonfatal wound.
Jake could only take one thing at a time. Getting rid of the pain in his arm was this one thing. The rest would have to be dealt with on a first come, first-served basis. Anything beyond it had to be shoved to the back of the line until he could catch his breath.
He was going to do all he could to control destiny—for now.
Unfortunately, he did not hear Liddy cross over to him. But he certainly smelled her. The scent of rose petals brushed over strong, painful memories in his head, causing more grief than he’d ever imagined.
“What the hell do you want now, Liddy?” His eyes closed, his steam vented, his tongue was actually being civil for a change—wonder of wonders.
He didn’t want to continually fight with her. Nor did he much care to waste his breath arguing what was an unending war between the two.
Liddy took a deep breath and sat next to him.
Jake opened his eyes to startling blue orbs staring at his upper arm.
“So? Now you know,” he said. But the knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Jake,” Liddy poured out, “what did you do to your arm?”
“I already told you. Nothing much.”
About to raise her hand to the raw wound, he highly doubted his heart could take the contact of her fingers with his skin. He slid over on the bench to get out of her reach.
“You—” she stumbled out, “—you changed it.”
“I know.” The words were little more than a deep moan from the dark recesses of his gut.
“Why did you change it?”
He closed his eyes, took a moment to gather his thoughts, and said, “I did it so I would never forget being such a damn fool. That’s why.”
His snake tattoo now had a chain around it; captured and tied down, the tag hanging from the chain simply read . . . ‘Liddy’.
“Oh, Jake.” She looked to be avoiding, at all costs, falling apart at the seams.
“When did you do this?” she asked, turning her head from the sight of his arm.
She could barely look at the snake.
Captured and tied down was symbolic of how he felt about her these days. Yet there’d been a time when she’d ran her tongue over his snake. A time when she ran her fingers over his body. The bombarding memories inside his head physically hurt.
“I did this the day you left me,” was all he would say, because they were suddenly interrupted by Ceril and Debra coming into the police station at a clip.
“Would you look at this latest mess! And neither Giotti killed the other?” Debra blurted; a smile set to her lips.
Ceril grinned too. He then walked toward his desk.
“But already Jake has taken his shirt off,” she added.
“I’m sure given a few minutes more they would have tried to end each other’s life,” Larry added in.
Debra stormed over to the incarcerated foul-mouthed man. “It is about time for you to leave us. Chief Ceril will see to getting your ass back to Sparta.” She shoved a key in the lock and twisted her wrist.
“But the fun is just starting,” Larry whined, stepping out of his holding cell.
“Hey! What about me?” Duke asked, as Debra moved Larry toward Ceril’s desk.
“You will just have to wait your turn. You don’t really think I’m stupid enough to be letting the two of you out together, do you?” she answered.
Duke sat down on the bench, clamping his mouth shut. No one lived more than a day if ever they called Debra Wesley stupid. To her face, that was. Behind her back, a man—or woman—could get away with it every second upon every hour.
Chief Berken picked up the lone sheet of paper resting on the top of his desk, scanned it briefly, then flipped it down; disgust written all over his face. “This for real?” he asked his second in command.
Debra nodded as she tried locating the key to Duke’s cell on a ring of about fifty keys.
Ceril turned his sight to Liddy. “Jesus! Wanted for Grand Theft Auto, Ms. Humphrey?”
“Yep,” Debra admitted loudly, finding the key hidden amongst the clutter on her desk and not on the key ring.
Liddy groaned. Aloud.
“You should probably add spousal abuse to any charges,” Jake muttered; and looked as though unable to help himself.
Ceril gave Jake a strange look, while Debra kept up with her grinning.
“Liddy hasn’t done a goddamn thing to you Jake, for the charge to be made against her,” his half-sister warned.
“Not yet.” He smiled. “But I am positive she’s thinking about it. Doesn’t thinking count for at least another ten to twenty? But without the possibility of parole?”
Liddy hissed under her breath, “Is the act of committing murder while inside a holding cell actually considered spousal abuse, Darling?”
“How the hell should I know?” he threw back. “You’re the hot shot lawyer’s sex toy who got herself stuck into this one. You tell me.”
Jake eyed his wife up and down with about as much disgust as Ceril had at reading one lone sheet of paper sitting on his desk.
Debra interrupted their tiny—albeit, heated—argument before it got out of her control. “That will be enough out of the both of you! I have my hands full with these two deviants. I don’t need lip from either one of you for the only reason you hate each other and somehow can’t act like grown adults when in the same room. Get along or else!”
Ceril started to chuckle. Duke grinned from inside his holding cell. Debra actually smirked at her very own thoughts. And to a rather unfortunate Larry, all he got was another ‘Shut the hell up!’ before even given the chance to say anything audible.
Jake wasn’t done with putting his two cents in, either.
“Now she’s threatening me! Look! There’s a tie in here. I might not make it through the night if she gets her hands on this tie.” He held the tie up for all those inside the police station to view.
Debra’s eyes widened in jackrabbit haste. “How the hell did a tie get in there? Damnit, Jake! You did not have a tie on your person when I first put you in there. `Course you had on all your clothes . . . but you sure as hell went inside the cell tie-less.” She stormed over to the holding cell and held out a hand.
“An ever darling Rachel brought it to him,” Liddy supplied sweetly, innocent of all fault toward the misdemeanor. “Surely he must have asked her bring it to him to use against me? That’s premeditated criminal behavior . . . if ever there was.”
Ceril choked on his sip of coffee.
Everyone in the station was more than aware the few times he did get to arrest someone, the culprit was usually released once the man’s hangover worn off. There’d never been an actual big city crime in Preacher’s Bend when Liddy lived here. This would be the very first, ever, where Chief Ceril had a real car thief within his jail. And not just any car thief. No!
Debra tossed Jake’s ill-gotten tie toward her desk as Ceril raised his great berth from a small wooden chair. Swear to God, the man’s chair sighed when his ass left it.
“Think you can handle Duke?” he asked his second-in-command.
Debra glared at her boss’s back in answer.
Everyone also knew the two of them got along like peas in a pod. Ceril at one end of the pod, Debra seated at the other. With a whole lot of useless, genetically-faltering peas taking up space throughout the middle.
“Okay, then. I should be back in about three hours.” Chief Berken said, moving Loose-lips Larry toward the door.
To all parties involved, three hours translated into a one hour drive down to Sparta, one hour drive back up to Preacher’s Bend, and another one hour nap with Ceril holding out at home during the heat of the day inside cranked air-conditioning.
“I can’t stay here. I have something to take care of today. Police business,” Debra said.
“Someone needs to watch these two. One of them already got their hands on a tie. There’s no telling what else might turn up in either of their hands.” Ceril had announced his thoughts lightly, masking a chuckle. Yet, he grinned at Jake through the cell bars. “We wouldn’t want the need to do any explaining of an unexplained death on our watch, now would we, Deputy Wesley?”
Jake pulled his gaze from Ceril’s.
“They wouldn’t dare!” Debra yelped.
“Oh, believe me . . . these two?” Ceril pointed at the cell. “—The Giottis would dare just about anything, given the opportunity to do so. This fine old town has gotten plenty of scars from what these two can do to each other. Preacher’s Bend doesn’t need any more scars, Debra. It’ll have to be up to you to make sure the old place stays scar free.”
****
Jake groaned.
Yeah, he’d be the first to claim a few of those scars. He wasn’t going to deny this. His eyes then drifted to Liddy. Hell, she’d been as much a culprit in her youth as he’d been. They could share the blame.
“They’ve certainly got some explaining to do. But, by the look of things . . .” Ceril smiled. “I’d say they have to deal with each other first. You go ahead and do whatever it is you need doing, Debra. But these two deviants need a baby-sitter before you leave.” He pushed Larry through the open door. “Maybe Theo can watch over them? It’s Bitch Day. I’m sure the old hag won’t repeat anything either says in confidence.”
Ceril added, “But if she does, I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt this town any to hear it.”
Neither Jake . . . nor would it seem, Liddy . . . wanted Theodora Rosebud to come over to the police station just to baby-sit them; simply because they couldn’t get along with each other.
“We’ll behave,” Jake promised. “You don’t have to ask Theo to come out in this heat.”
And it was indeed hot outside, getting close to eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit. Theodora was not a very nice person, let alone when the thermometer read in the high eighties. Put the two together and folks could have an internal combustion—nuclear style.
Theodora Rosebud was a bitter old hag who thought she ran this town. Jake, more than anyone, knew this. The woman absolutely hated life. About as much as she despised the extracurricular activities of her very deceased husband over the last twenty years. Theodora coming down to the police station would be far worse than his just dealing with Liddy all on his own.
For a brief moment, Ceril considered the pros and cons of Jake’s promise. Then he gave in. “Okay. Fine, they don’t need a baby sitter.” His head turned toward Jake. “But don’t you dare have me regret this decision, Mr. Giotti. `Cause if you do, I’ll personally add another four years to your parole condition. Am I making myself clear on this?”
Under the circumstances, it was pretty hard for Ceril to be tough on him; since a complete turnaround in moral behavior had already occurred. But as their Chief, Jake knew Ceril had to try.
He nodded. “Understood perfectly, Chief.” Another four years under Debra’s watchful eye would physically kill him. He wasn’t dumb enough to chance this. Besides, he had no real desire to tempt fate when his hands were already tied behind his back.
“Good.”
Chief Berken tugged Larry out the door. Debra opened Duke’s cell and moved him to the police station door, as well.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Jake,” she warned her half-brother. “Because if you do, I’ll come back here and kill you myself.”
“Nothing stupid. Got it,” he muttered, nodding. “I’ll . . . ,” he corrected quickly, “We’ll . . . be as good as a child stuck in the front row of church on Easter Sunday.” He turned his head toward his sulking wife. “Ain’t that right, Darling?”
Debra snorted at the pathetic gesture of a promise before Liddy reacted to it.
“Yeah, right. And it’s freezing cold in Haiti right about now, too,” the deputy conduced.
Jake turned his head again and looked at Liddy; who was now looking at him with a smile on her face.
As Debra walked out the door with Duke in tow and closed that door behind her back, Jake lost his cool. “What the hell are you smiling about?”
Liddy diverted her eyes away from his, saying, “Nothing. Nothing at all . . .” She even giggled under her breath.
“You know, you are in as much trouble here, as I, if not a whole lot more.”
Her sight slammed into his. “And I would not be in any trouble . . . if you had just signed those annulment papers, as asked.”
Her face quickly reddened, warning him of what was about to head his way.
“How is it my fault you stole your fiancée’s car?”
“How is it?” She balled her fists at her sides. “How . . . Oh! . . . OH! . . . ”.
Liddy Giotti was unable to finish her sentence, because he’d gotten her right where it hurt the most. Her misguided Humphrey pride just took a big hit.
Chapter Ten
How was it his fault? Hell!
Did he not know everything a man did was his fault?
How she ever thought Jake Giotti to be the one and only man for her, was far beyond her wildest imagination at this point. In fact, she doubted her mind could ever be changed about this. The man could infuriate a viper and get away with it. Look at him! Just seated there, looking all smug and self-satisfied.
Oh! The bastard! The wretched bastard!
If she wasn’t so bloody pissed at him, she would’ve gleefully punched him right on the arm, right on that ugly snake tattoo of his. She’d always hated snakes and didn’t really give a shit he’d taken it upon himself to put her name on it. But then the bastard would’ve likely bled all over the place, and she certainly did not want to ruin a favorite white tank top and the only pair of jeans really fitting her these days just t
o hurt him.
Besides, he did not deserve the effort of her actions. Or, even the effort of her thoughts. A lot could be said for keeping hostile emotions in check.
Liddy was, however, going to give Jake a piece of her mind. She had nothing better to do than simply wait out her fate while trapped in a holding cell with his wretched ass.
“Let’s call a truce. Shall we?” She dared to turn her head and face Jake in the most direct route.
“Let’s not,” he muttered back.
Oh, in her face, is it?
“Fine, be that way.”
If he wanted to be childish about all of this, so could she. It was no skin off her back.
Liar.
It was so much skin off her back, her spine was showing through.
“Fine.” Jake flared his nostrils. “I will be that way.”
God! She truly hated it whenever he flared his nostrils. It meant she had to work extra hard toward getting her way, and he would get to work less and less at getting her goat.
“Do you really think they intend to leave us here? Alone?” she suddenly asked. She had the huge problem of stating aloud what was in the head, and on more than one occasion getting her into a ton of hot water.
“Shut up, Liddy,” he ground out, closing his eyes.
“I wasn’t asking you!”
“Then who the bloody hell were you asking? Santa Claus? Because there is no one else inside this police station with us, and thanks to you, I am now stuck inside this fucking hellhole with the likes of you . . . until Tuesday.”
“What . . . is . . . your . . . problem, Asshole?”
A girl could take only so much from such an arrogant bastard before losing her cool.
“What is my problem?” he sputtered.
“Yeah. What the hell is your problem?” Liddy quickly crossed her arms over her chest, disgusted he’d reduced her to swearing.
“I’m looking at my fucking problem, Sweetheart,” he offered waspishly.
OH! Cheap shot.
“Yeah, well I’m looking at mine, too!”
Roundabout Road (Saving the Sinners of Preacher's Bend Book 2) Page 9