by Jamie Hill
“Nervous?” Jack asked Crystal as he took the midnight blue coat from her and hung it on the coat rack.
“Not really,” she answered and smiled at him coyly. “I was just sort of wishing for a cigarette.”
He chuckled. “It’s been two weeks! You’re doing so well.”
She adjusted his tie and patted the lapel of his suit jacket. “You, too. Two weeks without cigarettes or alcohol. I’m amazed you’re still alive.”
He leaned in to kiss her cheek and whisper in her ear, “Thank God for the sex, is all I’ve got to say.”
She laughed and gave him a little shove, but when he clasped her hand, she didn’t pull it away.
“Hey, here’s my favorite family!” Brady Marshall joined them in the outer office. “Wow, look at you guys, all spiffed up and everything.”
“Hey, Brady.” Crystal reached for him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She would never forget him for jumping in front of the bullet meant for Jack. But she knew that he'd done something else for Jack that night, something even more precious. He became Jack's true friend. She patted the lapel of his suit jacket. “You clean up pretty nicely yourself.”
Brady swept her into his arms and glanced toward Jack. “You’re really not going to share this gorgeous creature with me?”
Jack smiled and pulled Crystal back into the circle of his own arms. “I’ll share a lot of things with you, buddy, but no, not this gorgeous creature. How about my other gorgeous creature? Are you ready to spend two weeks with him?”
Brady smiled and knelt down to where Mark and Devon stood with Zeus, holding his leash. “Hi, fellas. How’s he doing?” He touched the bandage that wrapped diagonally around the animal.
“He’s doing pretty good,” Mark said. “But he’s not supposed to run too much. We wrote down all his instructions.” Mark held out several sheets of paper.
“Great,” Brady smiled at the boys and took the papers. He folded them and put them in his jacket pocket. “I promise to read them all.” He stood back up and looked at Jack. “So, two weeks at Disney World. Sounds like quite a romantic honeymoon.”
“I think it sounds wonderful.” Crystal leaned in to Jack, beaming at him.
He gave Brady an irritated glance and told her, “Well, I wasn’t exactly honest with you. It’s actually one week at Disney World, and another week on a Disney cruise.”
“A cruise?” Her eyes lit up.
“A Disney cruise,” Jack corrected. “There’s a difference. See, on a Disney cruise they plan all sorts of supervised activities for the children, and the parents are left to their own devices.”
Crystal’s eyes sparkled as she threw her arms around his neck. “You are so smart! I knew there was a reason I was marrying you.”
Brady nodded. “Nice touch, Dunlevy. Okay, so maybe you are kind of romantic…and smart.”
Jack grinned. “Oh, and I talked to your friend Mike with the security systems company. I’m going to go to work for him in January.”
“No kidding?” Brady shook Jack’s hand. “You’re really going to do it? You’ve made up your mind?”
“Yes,” Crystal spoke for Jack. “They don’t appreciate him at the WPD. I want him to work someplace where he’s respected and admired, as he should be.”
Brady shook his head. “Oh man, they’re respecting him all over the place now. He’s the golden boy after that coup he pulled off. Didn’t he tell you? They offered him a promotion, and everyone’s tripping all over each other to get to be his partner.”
Crystal gave Jack a look of concern. “No, he didn’t tell me.”
Jack smiled. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve made my decision. We’re going on our honeymoon, and then we’re going to spend a few weeks enjoying the holidays and getting used to being a family.” He glanced at the boys and said to Brady, “We’ve had a few therapy sessions. I’m sure we’ll have a few more. It’s an adjustment period for everybody. Come January the boys will start their new school and I’ll start my new job.”
Brady nodded and smiled at Jack, then Crystal. “And what about you? What are you going to be doing in January?”
She glanced at Jack and rubbed a hand over her stomach as she smiled up at Brady. “Hopefully getting morning sickness, if things go the way we’d like.”
Brady’s mouth dropped open but he didn’t have time to comment as the judge entered the room. “Jack Dunlevy and Crystal Cartwright?”
“Yes sir,” Jack told the white-haired judge.
Crystal guessed him to be about seventy. She hoped he still remembered the ceremony.
“Cartwright, eh?” the judge looked at her. “Any relation to Hoss and Little Joe?”
Crystal smiled and rolled her eyes at Jack as he started to laugh. “No, Your Honor,” she said politely. To Jack, she muttered, “I am so ready to get rid of that name!”
“Ready to become Mrs. Dunlevy?” Her husband-to-be grinned at her.
“Very ready.”
Mark and Devon stepped up next to them. “We want to become Dunlevys too,” Mark said.
The judge looked at them over his glasses. “Oh yes, I have adoption papers here, for one Mark Edward Dunlevy and one Devon Stuart Dunlevy. I assume you would be them.”
“Yes sir,” Mark answered politely.
“Yes sir,” Devon repeated.
The judge looked at Jack and Crystal. “You know the name change becomes effective today, but the adoption isn’t official until the six-month waiting period expires.”
“We understand,” Jack told him, and squeezed Crystal’s hand.
Devon stepped up and spoke to the judge out of the corner of his mouth. “We just want the name change.”
Everyone laughed, and Crystal kissed the tops of both boys’ heads. She smiled at Jack, and her eyes twinkled as she looked at the judge. “So do I! Can we get started?”
~ The End ~
Family Ties
Dedication
To Jude Mason for your unwavering support and friendship!
Chapter One
Judging by the smell of the bloated body, it'd been lying in the alley for at least a day. Brady Marshall stepped around a stack of trash cans and squatted next to the corpse. He held his fingertips to the pulse points in the man's neck. As expected, there was no pulse. The gesture was a formality done for the benefit of the crowd gathered outside the Pink Banana Club. "Did anyone call 911?"
"I did." The petite blonde waitress, whose terrified screams had summoned him moments before, stepped forward. "Aren't you a cop?"
"Yeah." Brady stood up and glanced around the alley. "But I'm not a homicide cop."
"Homicide?" The woman repeated.
Her boss moved up behind her. "He's a vice cop." The club owner didn't hide the disgust in his voice. He screwed up his face, making the pock marks stand out more prominent.
Brady flashed a personable smile and raised his hands. "Just here for a couple of drinks, Warren. I'm not looking for trouble."
Warren Clifton snickered and shook his head at the dead body. "Trouble has a way of finding you, Marshall."
"What a thing to say!" Brady feigned indignation. "That hurts, Warren, it really does. What do you think about getting these nice people back inside the club, and I'll wait out here until someone comes to take over the scene?"
"Yeah, all right." Warren ushered the gawkers back into the building. He looked at Brady one last time, muttering, "Can we try to keep this out of the club, Marshall?"
Brady lit a cigarette and shrugged as he blew a puff of smoke into the air. "Not my case, man. I'll put in a good word for you, but there'll be questions."
"I know." Obviously irritated, Warren tossed one last look at the body and stepped inside.
Watching him go, Brady thought about the club owner for a moment. Warren was a decent guy. He ran a clean establishment, seemed to treat his help respectably and didn't have many run-ins with Brady's section of the law. There were plenty of clubs in town whose owners couldn't say the same. It wa
s one reason he chose to frequent the Pink Banana on his occasional evening off.
Wailing sirens pierced the air. They brought his attention back to the body on the ground in front of him. He didn't have much information to pass along, but he'd tell them what he knew. He wanted to head back inside, finish his drink and catch a little more of the show.
Two cars, their red lights flashing, pulled into the alley, one a marked police car and one unmarked. Brady took one last drag, before dropping his cigarette and crushing it under the toe of his boot. He approached the unmarked car and smiled at the tall, buxom brunette who emerged. "Hey, Mel. Looks like your lucky night."
Detective Melanie Curtis glanced at him before she sought out the body. "What are you doing here, Marshall?"
"Having a drink. A waitress took out the trash and hollered when she found our friend, here. I had her call it in, and said I'd stay with the scene until you showed."
"What's it look like?" The detective took a step closer to the corpse. "A bum, a drunk?"
Brady shrugged. "Dressed pretty nice to be a bum, but he doesn't smell so great. I didn't touch anything other than checking for a pulse on his neck, but I believe I detected a small bullet hole in front of his left ear."
Curtis dropped to one knee and peered at the body. "Son-of-a-bitch! So much for getting home at a decent hour." She looked up at one of the uniformed officers awaiting her orders. "Cordon off the area and start searching the alley." To the other uniform she said, "Get the medical examiner over here. You'll need to knock on the doors of surrounding businesses and take statements. See if anybody saw or heard anything. Find out the last time anyone from the club was out here." She looked at Brady. "You're welcome to stay and help."
He grinned at her and shook his head. "No, thanks. It's my night off, and I've had a couple drinks." He extended a hand and pulled her to her feet. Mel was a good looking woman, though she usually wore nondescript, dark pant suits when she worked. She kept her thick brown hair pulled into a ponytail.
Brady had worked several cases with her, and they were friends, nothing more. She sometimes gave him the feeling she'd be interested in pursuing a relationship, but he'd never thought office romances were a good idea. He faced the door to the club. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go have a couple more drinks."
"Thanks for nothing, Marshall," Curtis called after him.
Brady didn't turn around, just waved as he walked back inside the club. He felt a twinge of guilt, but it was unnecessary. Off duty and drinking, he had no business working a case. "Speaking of drinking," he muttered to himself, noticing his clean, empty table. There was a brand new bourbon and seven in front of him before that waitress—what was her name?—Julie, that was it, before Julie discovered drop-dead Fred in the alley. He scanned the room, but Julie was nowhere in sight.
"Excuse me." He reached for the arm of another waitress.
The dark-haired woman whirled around angrily, jerking away from his grasp. "What's your problem, buddy?" Fury sparked from her shiny brown eyes.
Brady was floored. He'd never seen such an attractive combination of goddess and hellcat as the woman standing before him. She was tall, just an inch or two shorter than his six-two build. Her curly black hair, fair skin and rose-colored lips reminded him of a gypsy princess. But the scorching look she flashed made him think she might deck him at any moment. "Whoa!" He lifted his hands. "No problem, really, other than I left the table for a few minutes and my drink disappeared."
She narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down. "You a cop?"
"Is it stamped on my forehead, or something?" He tried to flash her one of his patented smiles but she continued to glower.
"Yeah, actually it is." She took a step closer. "Oh, sorry, that says 'asshole', not 'cop'."
Brady crossed his arms and looked at her patiently. He realized waitresses in places like this, must get groped and hit on regularly, especially ones who looked like her. "I'm sorry I grabbed you. I didn't mean anything by it."
She stared at him another moment, then licked her thumb and ran it across his forehead. "Well, I'm sorry, too. That was a smudge. Maybe it didn't say 'asshole' after all."
Brady laughed and the woman's lips curved up, seemingly against her wishes. She was pretty when she scowled, but she was a knockout when she let herself smile.
He tried to compose himself. "I haven't seen you here before."
She rolled her eyes. "Wow, that's original. Want to know how many times I've heard that line?"
He grinned. "It's not a line, it's an observation."
Nodding slowly, she added, "I've only been working here about a week."
"Name's Marshall, Brady Marshall." For some reason he stammered, and the realization bothered him. He paused to take a calming breath. "Brady."
"I don't think we'll be friendly enough to be on a first name basis, officer."
"Detective," he corrected. "I don't see why not. I'm a regular here. Your friends can tell you I'm a decent guy."
She shrugged. "I don't have many friends in this place, Detective. Come on, where would you like to sit? Up front by the stage?"
"Back here is fine." He snagged a table closer to the bar than the stage and swung his leg over a chair.
She stopped and looked at him. "You can see the show better up front. There are plenty of tables."
"This is fine." Brady leaned his chair back so it touched the wall. "So what do the friends you do have call you?"
She finally allowed a smile. "Gina."
"Gina," he repeated and nodded. The name suited her. Tiny butterflies fluttered around in his gut and he tried to ignore them.
"What were you drinking, Detective? I'm afraid I tossed your first drink when I came on shift. I'll get you another, on the house."
"Well, it wasn't my first drink. But I'll take bourbon and seven when you get back around."
"Anything to eat?"
"Not now, thanks."
"Be right back." Gina walked off toward the bar and Brady watched her go. She was definitely the most interesting woman he'd run across in a long time. Something about her intrigued him, in ways he wasn't sure he understood. The beginnings of an erection tented his trousers and Brady shifted in his chair. That he understood.
Music started and he peered at the stage. A dancer in a short, white nurse's uniform strutted into the spotlight and gyrated around the pole positioned center-stage. She had blazing red hair and a set of knockers that were ready to burst out of her costume. Brady watched for a moment then returned his attention to Gina, who chatted with the bartender across the room.
Her hair was coal black, and fell into loose ringlets around her shoulders. It had a glossy shine, looking very pretty and natural. He looked back at the stage, where the stripper was making her way out of her uniform. The dancer's hair color rivaled Yosemite Sam's.
"You like redheads?"
Brady jumped as Gina set his drink in front of him. He'd been staring off into space, and missed her arrival. "They're okay. I like more natural-looking hair, I guess."
Gina checked out the dancer. "She reminds me of Magenta, the red-haired chick on the Rocky Horror Picture Show."
Brady chuckled. "I was thinking more of Yosemite Sam."
She laughed out loud. "Shit, man! Don't tell her that. Her self-esteem would go right in the crapper."
He grinned and looked at her thoughtfully. "Don't women appreciate honesty? I mean, I used to highlight my hair a few years back, until a friend told me it wasn't cool to have hair colors that didn't appear in nature."
Gina made a face and shrugged. "This your lady friend we're talking about?"
He returned the shrug. "She was a lady, yeah, but she wasn't 'my' anything. Actually, she's now the wife of a good buddy."
"To each her own, I guess. Personally, I like a guy who spiffs himself up a bit. But I don't care much for cops."
Brady fiddled with his swizzle stick. "Good to know."
She stared at him flatly. "Get you anyth
ing else right now?"
"No, thanks."
"Enjoy the show." She turned and walked away.
He watched her hips swivel and admired the way her ass looked in tight jeans. "I certainly will," he murmured. He looked back at the stage. Nurse Sam, as he was thinking of her now, had stripped to nothing but fishnet stockings held up by a garter belt and a thong. Her full breasts bobbed as she humped the pole on stage. The sight of her didn't do anything for him. In fact, all Brady could think was, with life preservers like those on board, the woman would never drown.
He found himself searching the room until his gaze again landed on Gina. She waited on a table full of men, laughing and joking with them. To his surprise, Brady felt a stab of jealousy. Where the hell did that come from? He'd just met the woman. Sure, he found her attractive, but if the truth were known he found much of the world's population of women attractive. The feelings seemed to be mutual. To the casual observer, Brady was not a lonely man.
He studied Gina's return to the bar where she turned in the drink orders from her last table. She wore very little make-up, but came across as polished just the same. She moved fluidly, gracefully, and seemed comfortable chatting up a group of men at a strip club.
He sipped his drink and remembered how she jumped and got angry when he grabbed her arm. Maybe she wasn't as comfortable as she let on, or she preferred people at a distance.
"Turn it off, Detective," he muttered to himself, something that was easier said than done. When he was alone in a crowd Brady usually analyzed people, trying to figure out what made them tick. Just then, he didn't want to think that hard. He'd recently wrapped up a stressful case, and tonight, he intended to relax and unwind, drop-dead Fred notwithstanding.
He looked at the stage, where Nurse Sam wound up her part of the show by shaking her ass at a group of Asian businessmen. They seemed pleased with her, judging by the amount of money they tossed onto the stage. Maybe I do need to move closer to the front. Perhaps he could lose himself in the bevy of naked beauties that were sure to parade before him. Even that idea didn't hold great appeal. He looked around again until he found Gina, and watched her instead.